


Hell is Jealous of the Rain

by nimoko



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Empathy, M/M, Pre-Season 1 AU, Soul Bond, Telepathic Bond, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 49,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4413953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimoko/pseuds/nimoko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The moment I held Sam in my arms for the first time, I knew.  Oh, not all of it, of course.  Not even the half of it.  But I knew, somewhere deep down inside me, that he was for me, and I for him.  I knew that I had been waiting my entire life (all four years of it) to feel this perfect and complete inside, and I knew that now that I had found what I was looking for, there was no way I was ever going to let it go.  Sammy was mine to protect, and that was that."</p><p>As the Winchester boys watch their childhood burn, they choose to accept a heaven-granted soulbond.  That choice makes all the difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Completed Nanowrimo novel from a few years ago. I will be posting daily as I edit. This is a completed story; all chapters will be posted.

** Chapter 1 **  
_Dean POV_

I remember. Oh, I remember it exactly. The moment I held Sam in my arms for the first time, I knew. Oh, not all of it, of course. Not even the half of it. But I knew, somewhere deep down inside me, that he was for me, and I for him. I knew that I had been waiting my entire life (all four years of it) to feel this perfect and complete inside, and I knew that now that I had found what I was looking for, there was no way I was ever going to let it go. Sammy was mine to protect, and that was that.

Well, let me back up a bit. I remember waiting while Mom was pregnant, placing my little hands over her swelling belly and thinking that I felt something special in there. She always told me that my little brother or sister knew and liked me already - pre-baby Sam would always squirm when he could hear my voice. When my hands were there, I could feel him kicking and reaching, like he knew I was right there, trying to connect with him, and he, too, was already seeking that connection.

I remember the night Dad shook me awake, and said we needed to go, the baby was coming. I sat in the little waiting room in the hospital for hours, kicking my feet (which couldn’t even reach the floor) and waited patiently, alone. Even back then, Dad didn't trust his family with anyone. He would rather I be down the hall, in a waiting room by myself, than waiting in some stranger's home for a call from him. I fully agreed. I wanted - needed - to be there.

Nurses kept giving me those pitying stares, like I had been abandoned and forgotten. They took turns, coming over with offers of lollipops and books; toys and games. One asked if I would like to go play with some of the other children in the children's ward. I always shook my head. "I'm waiting for my brother."

Mom and Dad weren't sure if it was a boy or a girl, but somehow, that night, I just knew that I was going to have a brother. Sam says I have more psychic abilities than I like to admit. I insist they only ever relate to knowledge about him. But I digress.

Hours later, when Dad entered the waiting room to retrieve me, a bright smile on his face, I leaped off my chair and ran into his arms. He scooped me up, and carried me down the corridor, past the disapproving frowns of the nurses, and didn't even notice. I think he knew, just like me, that our family was now, finally, complete.

He pushed open the hospital room door, and there Mom sat, sweaty and exhausted and so incredibly beautiful, I swear my eyes teared up a little. Then, she looked down to the bundle in her arms and said, "Dean, come and meet your new brother."

Dad set me down on the edge of the bed, and I crawled until I was sitting next to Mom, shoulder to, well, her elbow, I guess, with my back pressed to the pillows, and positioned my arms just like hers, ready to accept the bundle from her. Without another word, she leaned down, placed a gentle kiss on the baby's forehead, and gently placed him in my arms.

Most other children get the warnings - gentle now, support his head, don't move - but Mom knew I knew. God, she always knew. Maybe that's where he gets some of it from.

The bundle warm in my arms, I nudged the blanket and the wool beanie aside, and finally gazed upon the face of my brother for the first time. And, really, that was it. "Sammy..." I whispered, never having heard that they had already named him Samuel Winchester upon birth. I just knew - he was my Sammy.

Upon hearing his name said with my child lips, he opened his eyes, and reached out toward me. I adjusted my hand, and he latched into my pointer finger with his small, perfect little fist...

A wash of warmth and light and happiness overwhelmed me, filling up all the little dark corners and crevices in my small body that I didn't even know were there – the places where the feelings lost and lonely live. Love infused every bit of me, and cycled right back into the little body I held cradled in my small, protective arms. We were tied, linked, and it was more perfect than anything I could ever remember. It was better than presents on Christmas, and lullabies sang with Mom's pretty voice, and play wrestling with Dad. It was amazing. And it was all mine, as long as I wanted it.

I couldn't imagine ever not wanting it. And that was that.


	2. Chapter One Coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally began writing this work, I had this grand vision of incorporating a variety of POVs into the narration. Once the plot arrived, however, the work became focused on switching between Dean and Sam POVs exclusively.
> 
> A few outside POV shorts exist. I have decided to include these as Codas. Skipping these will not impact your understanding or appreciation of the piece. However, they add extra insight to a few early chapters.

**Chapter 1 Coda**   
_Nurse Sawyer_

That room is on my board, again. 

It makes me so nervous, going in there. They break all the rules of visiting hours, and every time I attempt to get the husband to take his older son home, he somehow talks me around in circles until I am agreeing that it really would be best that they stay, no worries. I am still not quite sure how he makes that happen.

And, the whole time, unless the mother is nursing, the new baby is in the arms of the four-year-old! How can that be safe?! I know, all big brothers want to try holding their new siblings for the first time, but it's usually a ten minutes max endeavor until they get bored or inattentive and forget to be gentle, and the new baby slips or gets hurt.

I have tried hinting to Mrs. Winchester that she needs to set some guidelines with Dean about his role as a big brother, for the new baby's sake. Her response is just as stubborn as her husband's, "Dean knows what he is doing."

Seriously! Yes, the four-year-old has got this. Not a problem! Heaven help that family. I cannot wait until they leave!


	3. Chapter Two

**_Dean POV_**

After Sammy got to come home with Mommy, life was perfect.  Mom and Dad insisted on putting him in his own room, even though I explained that I could protect him much better if we shared a room.

"Protect him from what, son?  I know that's your job, as his big brother, but don't you want your own space?" Dad attempted to reason with me.  Since I didn't really have a response, other than a nagging feeling of impending darkness and shadows in the night, I had no choice but to allow the separate rooms.

Sammy's nursery was very nice, full of bright colors and fun toys.  Sammy liked it, so I told him it was okay.  I could just visit him at night in his room.

And I did.  Every night, after I helped Mom put him into his crib, and Mom and Dad both went to sleep, leaving me all tucked into my "big boy bed," I would walk over to Sammy's room.  He was never asleep yet, even if Mom thought he had drifted off.  He always waited for me.

I would reach through the bars of the crib, and he would grasp my finger in his strong little grip, and I would "talk" to him.  But, well, I wouldn't use my voice.  I know, looking back, that seems so odd.  Why it didn't strike me as strange, I will never know.  But I knew Sammy could hear and understand me, better if I thought at him than if I used my words.  It was like, I used a different language with my mind, through our warm, fuzzy connection, than if I used my voice like everyone else.  And the flip side of that was I could understand him right back.

He would "ask" me questions about things he had experienced throughout the day, and I would explain it to him the best I could.  But it wasn't words, so much.  He would send me feelings or images, impressions he received, with the purple-tint of curiosity over them if he was questioning.  

If he just wanted to share something he enjoyed, the image would be the green-tint of contentedness.  That's how I knew he liked his room.  Any time I saw, through his mind, his mobile spinning slowly, or the bright images of the balloons on his wall, they would be ringed with an aura of aqua-green.

The only thing he ever saw surrounded by a rose-tint, however, was me.  I came to realize that while he was content when Mom or Dad held him, he only felt that joy and love, that rosy shade, when I was nearby.  As girly as it sounds, I melted inside at that.  He was my world, from the moment he was born.  It was nice to know, that even to his baby eyes, I was his most important person as well.

After our sharing time, I would "sing" him lullabies.  They were the ones from Mom, of course, but somehow I managed to translate them into colors and feelings, things that baby Sammy could understand.  I attempted to express that this is what Mom was trying to tell him when she rocked him and sang, but I don't think he could make the connection.  Her lullabies were always aqua in his mind, but they didn't send him to sleep like my versions could.

If I "sang" to him, his mind would drift to sleep to the most beautiful shade of blush; the same color of his baby cheeks as his eyelids shuttered closed, dark little eyelashes brushing against that perfect shade of pink, loved and safe, inside and out.

Then, and only then, did I go and tuck myself back into bed.  I slept so much better when I knew Sammy was safe and happy, asleep for the night

~

I will never forgive myself for my inattentiveness on the night Mom died.  Every night before that, I had always made sure to be there to talk to Sammy and protect him, lulling him into dreams.  But that night, well... I was just so tired. 

We had spent the day, as a family, enjoying fall activities.  We had ridden a hay ride through a pumpkin patch, and as a family we got lost for hours in a corn maze.  I remember sitting on Dad's shoulders, and reaching out for little Sammy who was riding in a backpack sling on Mom's back.  Every time our hands would brush, I would get a flash of shimmering, bright green dancing around the edges of the tall stalks of corn.  Sammy was just so pleased, with the vibes of happiness to be together as a family and the cool air the perfect complement to the movement through the maze.  It was a great day.

It was an exhausting day.  I had already helped Mom and Dad put Sammy down in his crib, and then Mom had sang me a lullaby and brushed my hair back from my forehead, giving me a goodnight kiss and assuring me, as she did every night, that angels would watch over me in my sleep.

And I tried to stay awake, to wait for Dad and Mom to settle into bed so I could make sure that Sammy knew the angels were watching him, too.  But I fell asleep, long before I heard the sounds of the living room television shutting off and the heavy footsteps of our parents heading upstairs to bed.

Later that night, I awoke suddenly - literally shooting upright in bed.  Something was wrong.  Something was very wrong; Sammy was scared and confused.  I had never felt anything that strong from him before, and usually we had to be touching for him to communicate like that.  Just that strangeness alone should have sent up a red flag, but all I could think about at the time was the urgency that Sammy was radiating.

_Quick, need, now, scared, DEAN!_

I scrambled out of bed, and hurried across the hall to Sammy's nursery.  I stopped short at the door, though.  Daddy was standing there, looking into Sam's crib.  I was so confused. Why would Sam be upset and scared if Dad was there?  He knows that Dad is there to care for us, even if he can't talk to Sammy like I can.

Then, more "shouts" from Sam.  _No, bad, wrong, look up up up!_

I looked to the ceiling at the same time I watched my Dad's head raise.  _Can he hear Sammy now, too?_ begins to run through my head, but stuttered, stopped short, short circuit, no.  Just, no.

Mommy, pinned to the ceiling, bleeding, crying... fire!  No!

I wanted to shout, scream, something, anything... my voice was gone, was nothing.

Then Dad snatched Sammy from his crib, turned and thrust him into my arms.

"Take your brother and run as fast as you can.  Go, Dean!  Now!"

I ran.

I felt the heat of the flames from the nursery, consuming my mother.  I could hear the roar of the fire, and my father's muffled shouts.  I wanted to be concerned about that, but I knew that my responsibility was to protect Sammy.

Sammy was silent, vocally, but through our connection he was screaming, absolutely terrified.  Everything was tinted red, to the point where I couldn't tell if I was seeing the glow of flames, or simply the terror aura Sam was projecting. 

I tripped at the base of the stairs, completely missed the last few steps, and fell.  I had enough base instinct to stick out my elbows and twist my body, landing hard on my hip and arm, baby Sammy safe from the impact of my clumsiness.

The shot of orange concern from Sammy had me cradling him tighter to my body as I scrambled to get my feet underneath me.  "I'm okay, Sammy.  We're okay," I mumble as I managed to fumble the door open and tumble out onto the front lawn.  I kept moving until we reached the Impala parked on the street in front of the house.  Carefully, I crawled on top of the hood, steeled myself, and turned us around to face the house.

I couldn't hold back my tears after that.  Our home was an inferno.  Everything safe and warm and happy about mine and Sammy's family, or childhood, was burning up before our very eyes.  Mom was burning, Dad was still in there, and... and...

I buried my face against Sammy's little, baby-soft cheek, squeezed my eyes shut, and cried.

As I sat there, mourning the loss of everything I thought I knew of life and happiness, I felt the strangest sensation.  My normal connection with Sammy seemed to be boosted, somehow.  Rather than the usual images and auras he used to communicate, I could "hear" actual words and thought patterns. 

_Dean, here.  Dean is here and okay.  Safe with him.  Safe with Dean.  No more red, safe here, with Dean.  Always safe with Dean.  No sadness, make Dean better.  Dean can't be sad.  Safe here, with Dean.  No sad.  Make better, make better.  Love Dean.  No sad.  Love, love, love..._

And then, from him, just the most amazing push of love I had ever felt.  I had always received that warm, fuzzy bundle of blush-tinted joy from Sammy, like a hug on the inside, but this was... wow.  If what I usually received was a hug, this was a lifetime of hugs, a filling, overpowering, brimming to the top with perfectness, with everything.  Comfort and joy and happiness; certainty that everything will be right with the world, because _I have my Dean_ and apparently, to Sammy, that meant nothing else could be wrong.

And I knew, that nothing really was right. The house was burning, and Mom was... was... but Dad walked out of the door, and Sammy was in my arms, warm and safe and full of love.  Somehow, the terror or the evening had boosted our connection, become something big and strong and... I was comforted. 

The angels may not be watching over me, but Sammy was, in his weird, awesome baby way, and maybe that would have to be enough. 

Dad walked over to us, and climbed up on the Impala hood.  I looked up into his eyes and I knew; Mom was gone.  Dad reached for Sammy, and I wanted to keep holding him, irrational thoughts of _mine, no, you couldn't protect Mom, how can you keep Sammy safe?_ but I squashed those down and let Dad take Sam.  He seemed like he needed some of the comfort that Sam had managed to give me, even though he couldn't hear him like I could. I even rested my head against his arm, attempting to share what love and family I could still manage to impart.

Besides, I realized that I could still feel Sammy, even without touching.  It had drifted back into the auras I used to receive from him when we touched, but that was plenty enough for me right now.  I knew Sammy was okay, and we still had Dad. 

The shouts of our neighbors, finally awaking to the blaze consuming our house, and the sound of sirens penetrated our little bubble of sorrow.  Sam jolted with a burst of orange and red alarm, and I automatically reached out to touch his arm.  With barely a thought, I sent a wave of reassurance and a soothing undulation of _settle, calm, safe_ and Sammy didn't even have time to fuss enough that Dad would take note.

  ** _It could always be this easy and perfect._**

The words assaulted me from everywhere, accompanied by the sound of ruffling, fluttering wings and the certainty of command.  Somehow, I knew that this was the turning point, the moment of perfect acceptance or rejection, no take backs.  Invisible wings, snow white and dewy soft, folded around Sammy and I.

Dad passed Sammy back to me as the fire trucks pulled up, and still the wings were there, and no one else seemed to be able to see them.  Through the wings, I could feel the future, Sammy and I, connected and bonded, always together, always feeling this amazing and whole.  Never alone or lonely, never lost because the other will always be there to _find him, find me, save him and me **and us and the world**._  

I didn't quite catch or understand it all, but I knew, somehow, these were the angels Mom always spoke of.  They couldn't protect her, but they were here, watching out for Sammy and I, and this was their way of fixing things as best they could.  **_Now or never, make a choice, losing power here..._**

**YES!**

It was a dual, internal shout, both Sammy and I agreeing to be everything for each other, bonded and connected for now and forever, eternity a gaping maw I couldn't comprehend or understand, but knowing that I never wanted to be without Sammy, never wanted him to face something so terrifyingly vast alone.

His accompanying yellow certainty, the wave of desperation to latch on, image of tiny baby fists grasping, grabbing, holding tight to my shirt his way of expressing he would never let go, could never let go, in his developing baby mind.

The joyous beating of wings assailed our minds for a moment, and the world, inside and out, shifted, somehow.  That backdrop feeling of Sammy in the back of my mind, broadened and deepened and flared up, a filling of that sixth, Sammy sense.  I closed my eyes and searched around there, feeling a tether, a fine silver filament, draw directly from my heart to Sam's. 

**_It is done.  And it will transform the world._ **

The proclamation boomed through me, and then, suddenly, the sounds and feel of the presence of angels ceased, as if they had never touched us.  All that remained was the connection to Sammy, strengthened to an unbreakable bond, never to be torn apart.


	4. Chapter Three

** Chapter 3 **

**_Dean POV_ **

After that night, everything was different.  I felt nervous and uncomfortable unless I was able to consistently reach out and touch Sammy.  Which, I suppose, would have been a problem, except for the fact that our lives were in absolute chaos.

Dad was determined to figure out what had taken Mom away from us.  If he wasn't crying or drinking, that is.  It became my job to watch Sammy.  Anywhere and everywhere, the only words I remember my Dad speaking to me during those first few months were, "Take care of your brother."

As if I wasn't doing that already.  I didn't know how to be apart from him, of course I was taking care of him!

With us cut off from the rest of the world, and Dad lost somewhere I didn't know how to follow, it became Sammy and me against the world. 

With our new connection, we could lay on the bed in the motel, his little fist snug around my finger, and we could just "talk" for hours.  It was so comforting, to finally hear the thoughts and phrases that Sammy had only previously been able to express in images and auras. Every day, his word choice, his knowledge of actual language, became greater and more complicated.  I don't know if it was just the natural development of a baby, or my constant talking to him, but his cognitive skills jumped by leaps and bounds.

Well, at least to me.  Little did I realize that since the bond flared to life in the wake of the flames of our childhood home, both of us had become near silent on the outside.  Our internal world was so loud and bright and stimulating, and it was only ever just the two of us most of the time, that we both ceased communicating verbally.

Why would we need to?

~

I was apprehensive when Dad said he was going to take us to see a woman who knew that an awful monster had stolen Mom from us.

Dad had finally come out of his fog long enough to inform me that a demon had taken Mom, and killed her, and did I feel like a demon had touched me, too?

I kept shaking my head.  I would have known if a demon had touched Sammy or me.  I couldn't explain the bond to Dad, but it wasn't demonic.  It couldn't be.  Demon meant evil and awful, burning flames and absolute misery.

The bond was... happiness and goodness, full and floaty perfection. It made the pain bearable, not worse.  The brush of wings we felt - that wasn't evil, either.  Those were angels.  Why would angels touch something that was wrong?  We couldn't be demon-touched.  I would have known!

Dad just patted me on the shoulder, and told me to pack Sammy up in the car seat, that we were going to go see Missouri regardless.

So, obviously I was already leery when we pulled up in front of her house.  Sammy was picking up on my distress; he reached out toward my arm, nudging me with his mind.  _What, Dean?  What is wrong?  Who lives here?  Worry?_

 _Shh_ , I send back.  _We are fine.  Dad wants us to see someone.  I will protect us._

The satisfied wave of _safe, Dean protect, no worries_ that washed over Sammy, and the whole bond, at my reassurances made me smile.  It always pleased me to know of Sam's utter trust and faith in me. I said it would be fine, and he trusted that I would make it that way.

I pulled Sammy from his car seat and we scooted out of the back seat of the Impala, Sammy wrapped secure in my arms.

I walked to stand next to Dad, and looked to the porch for the first time.  The woman standing there could be none other than the infamous Missouri.  Her eyes were full of knowledge, and they seemed to look right through Sammy and me, back and forth, in and out, tracing the wrappings of the bond between us.

Sammy turned his head to look at her, and a shudder passed through him and into me.  He quickly turned his head to bury it in the crook of my neck, shocked orange aura blazing through the words: S _he knows_!

I wanted to run.  Every fiber in me was shouting to hide myself and Sammy from someone with that kind of knowledge.  Even as young as that, I knew that the bond between Sam and I was not a natural, normal part of humanity.  Other people didn’t have this.  If they knew what we had... I don’t know!  I just knew, deep down, that it couldn’t be a good thing.

But, I couldn’t flee.  Dad had placed a hand on my shoulder, and was leading us toward the porch and the house of the woman with too much knowledge.

I pressed my face against the top of Sammy’s head, breathing into his hair as I whispered into his mind, _We’re fine, we’re fine, safe now, Dean’s here_.  The reassuring mantra did its trick; the aura colors from Sam drifted away from orange alarm and into the more muted, mustard yellow of _trust Dean_.

Dad was talking to Missouri, introducing us.  Missouri was talking back, but I could see her eyes, following us the whole time, tracing the ribbons weaved back and forth between my brother and me. 

She beckoned us into her house, and then was asking Dad to sit at a chair in her cluttered dining room while she directed Sam and I to move further into her house.  “I just need to speak with the dearies in the living room for just a moment.”

I attempt to appeal to Dad, my eyes shooting to his, alarm evident on my face.  He merely motioned for me to follow Missouri and turned away.  I dragged my feet, but I knew what would happen if I outright disobeyed Dad - eventually Sammy and I were alone in the flowery living room with Missouri. 

“Take a seat, boys.”

I lower Sammy onto a couch cushion and climb up next to him, before pulling him into my lap, arms wrapped tight around his middle, and my legs wrapped around his.  If I could, I would simply envelop him and hide him inside me, but this will have to suffice.

Missouri sat down on the coffee table directly across from our place on the couch, and looked me straight in the eye, like she was having a conversation with another adult, and not a five-year-old.   “Now, Dean, I need you to calm down for me, okay?  Your Daddy can’t hear us in here, so you don’t have to worry about him finding nothing out.”

I nodded my understanding, but I certainly didn’t calm all the way down.  It was my job to protect Sammy; he needed me to be vigilant, especially against someone who could be a potential threat.

“Dean, I promise you, I am no threat to you or your Sammy.  There are definitely things out there to be wary of, to protect your brother from, but I am not one of those things.

“I merely see things other people are not willing or able to see about the truths of the world around them.  Most people would look at you two and see nothing but a sweet older sibling, looking out for his baby brother.  But I... well, I see the way life has tied you two up together.

“There ain’t nothing wrong with you two boys; that bond is a precious thing, and mighty comforting for both of you, I bet.  The angels have breathed on you both.  Am I right?”

I was still hesitant, but... but Sammy was giving me nothing but a calm, aqua aura, listening to Missouri.  Sammy is very rarely wrong about the nature of people...

I nodded in agreement to her questions.

She smiled, and leaned back a little, seeming pleased with my response. 

“Good, boy.  Listen to your brother’s instincts.  He’s got good intuition.  Oh, don’t you go retreating from me.  I have some extra sight, is all.  It makes me understanding.  But not everyone is going to be as understanding as me, including your Daddy.”

I sat up a bit straighter, listening intently.  I had known, deep down, that this was something not to tell our father about, but to have it confirmed - well, I needed to know her reasons why.

“Good, now.  You pay attention.  Your Daddy is hurting, and is in a pretty dark place.  From what I see, losing your Momma is gonna affect him for a very long time.  The only way he is going to be able to deal with it is to Hunt.  The demon who stole your Momma, and anything else that comes along, so as to protect other families from the pain yours feels.  He is gonna save so many lives, but... Oh, boys, he is going to forget how to save his own family.

“But it’s okay, because you and Sammy are a damn fine family together, right?  You are going to look out for each other, and be the closest family you can be.  That bond of yours... it will be good. 

“Your Daddy, though.  He is already deciding that anything... not quite normal... has the potential to be evil, to bring evil and destruction, and must be stopped.  Oh, boys, he will not understand.  He will try to break the bond, thinking to protect you both from some grand evil, if he finds out.”

Even Sammy understood that last part.  He wraps his baby arms around mine, clutching and grabbing, orange alarm coloring his words.   _No, mine, can’t take Dean, need him, feel him, mine!_

I can’t even find the words to send back to comfort him, other than the image of a brick wall, surrounding us, blocking out the rest of the world, brick by brick, just us, safe and only inside, until be begins to settle.

I looked up into Missouri’s understanding eyes.  She had caught a good chunk of that exchange, it seemed. 

“Okay, then.  But you are here because your Daddy’s worried.  He believes the demon that stole your Momma stole yours and Sam’s voices as well.”

I furrowed my brow in confusion.  Stolen our voices?  Why would he think that?

“Dean, when was the last time you or Sammy made a noise that your Daddy could actually hear?”

It hit me like a ton of bricks.  We hadn’t.  The bond just made it so easy to communicate, and Sammy was always so loud and vibrant in my mind... we never spoke.  Sammy didn’t even make baby noises, because I could always tell what he wanted, and he was practicing using his new thoughts and mental words to communicate.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.  When you stepped out of the car and I saw the bond, I realized what had been happening. 

“That bond is a special thing, but if you want to keep it, you need to hide it.  To do that, you have to start acting a bit like regular kids.  Regular kids chat and talk, laugh and squeal and cry - aloud.  Right now, we can write it off as you sad over losing your Momma and your home, but you both need to make an effort to be vocal, or your Daddy’s gonna really worry.”

I started to simply nod at Missouri, and then paused.  Opening my mouth, I attempted to get my scratchy vocal cords functioning again.  “Yes, ma’am.”

She beamed at me and Sammy, “Good boy.  Now go see your Daddy before he storms in here.  He’s already wearing a path in my dining room, pacing the way he is.”

I nuzzle the back of Sammy’s head, and send through the bond, _Do you understand?  We need to let Dad hear us, sometimes, okay?_

In response, Sammy clapped his hands and said, clear as day, “Dea!”

I kissed his head, and laughed.  “Sammy!”

I shifted around Sammy, and climbed off the couch, pulling him into my arms and following Missouri out of the living room to where Dad was pacing.

He ceased his frantic movement as I carried Sam over to him.  He immediately dropped to one knee, and looked at us both.  “Is everything alright, Dean?”

I nodded my head, and said, “Yeah, Dad.  We are good.”

At Dad’s shocked face, I laughed.  Sammy giggled a little, baby squeal and said, himself, “Dea.”

As Dad scooped us into his arms, hugging us both fiercely, I knew that Sam and I would be just fine.


	5. Chapter Three Coda

** Chapter 3 Coda **

**_John POV_ **

It took me three months to realize that Dean hadn't said a word since I put him to bed the night of the fire.

It took me nearly another month to realize that I hadn't heard Sam cry once since that night either.  And not just not cry, but not make any sounds.  Babies are supposed to make sounds, right?  I remember Dean getting stuck on new sounds as he discovered them, blowing raspberries, making little squeals and squeaks and all manner of baby talk nonsense. 

But now, from both boys, I hear nothing.

Did something happen in the fire and I didn't realize?  Did they inhale too much smoke?  Can that cause muteness?  Is that even a term or a real condition?

Or is it something more sinister?  Missouri says a demon took Mary from us.  Did that same demon take my boys voices?  Is that even possible?  They took the love of my life; could he have stolen the joyous sounds of my boys’ laughter as well?

I try that evening to get Dean to talk.

I walk over to the boys.  Dean has the motel TV on some cartoon, and is half watching as he holds Sammy in his arms.  Sammy sits in his lap, head leaning back to rest against Dean’s chest, eyes focused on the bright images flashing across the TV.  Dean's arms are wrapped around Sam's middle, his face leaning down every so often to press into the downy soft curls on the top of Sammy's baby head.

It is a pretty typical image of the boys together.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  Then why do I feel a pit in my stomach looking at it?

"Dean."

He immediately looks up at me as I approach the bed, head tilted slightly, questioningly.

"Umm..." I clear my throat.  When did it get so difficult to talk to my son?  What do I say?  "Are you bored?"

Dean simply shakes his head.

"That's good, I guess.  You hungry?  We could go across the street to the diner for dinner." 

Dean seems to sit and think about that for a moment, and then nods his head.  He searches for the remote for the television, flips it off, and crawls out from around Sammy, scooching off the bed before picking Sammy up into his arms.

Sam, without any sort of prompting, moves himself into the perfect carrying position for a five-year-old, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck and his stubby little legs around his waist, automatically taking most of his weight in a way as not to encumber Dean.

They begin to head toward the door, Dean moving as if this is perfectly commonplace.

It is commonplace, though.  My five year old son carries his baby brother more than I do, and I am their father.  Shit.

"Dean, he must be heavy.  I can carry your brother."

Dean and Sam both tighten their arms around one another.  Dean looks up at me and shakes his head, then gives me a small smile.  He moves toward the door, and Sammy reaches out and twists the knob.  Dean takes two steps backwards as Sam holds onto the knob, and together they pull the door open until, together, they can wedge their way in to the space created. 

Then, in unison, they both look up at me, questions obvious in their eyes.  Coming?

Something is definitely odd.  I don't think normal kids act like that, do they?

I follow them out, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder in an attempt to acknowledge him and all he does.

It is time to take them to Missouri and see what she has to say.


	6. Chapter Four

** Chapter 4 **

**_Sam POV_ **

The first memory I have is of Dean and the bond. 

I remember lying on my stomach on the bed, with my eyes closed, and my shirt rucked up high enough that my lower back was bare.  Dean had his palm pressed to my back, and was telling me a story.  But he wasn’t using his voice.  He was showing me through our connection. 

It was like a Choose Your Own Adventure story, in my head, and it was a game, I came to realize, that we played often.  He would show me walking through a scene, and some sort of action happening, such as a giant Teddy Bear leaping out in front of me.  Then Dean would pause, and give me the bond equivalent of a questioning poke.  _What do you do?_

I would flash an image of my decision, such as _give the Teddy Bear a hug!_ and then mentally draw back and wait.  Dean would continue the story from there, showing the action I chose to take, and then the consequences, until the next crossroads, when he would leave the choice of action up to me.

That is how my thoughts, my being, came into this world – talking with my Dean, and letting him guide, but never decide, my steps.

~

For a while, I think I believed that everyone had what I had.  It just felt so natural to me, I assumed that no one else could exist in any other fashion.  I had a Dad and I had a Dean.  Most important was the Dean part.  He took care of me, and made sure that I had what I needed.  But more than that, he saw into my mind and my heart and he understood.  He could answer my questions when I couldn’t even put them into words.  He understood what all of my emotions looked and felt like.  He knew how to sing me the perfect lullabies to put me to sleep.

The Dad part of my life... well, I think he was trying.  And Dean insisted he loved us both, and Dean was pretty much always right, especially about things like that, so I felt that it was true.  But Dad didn’t or couldn’t love me like Dean could.  How could he, if he didn’t even understand me?  I would try to share with him, like I did Dean, but I wasn’t tied to him.  I could feel around inside me, and tug on a little, silver string that hooked me right into Dean, wherever one of us was.  It was comfort and perfect.

But, the more I started talking out loud, the more Dean started explaining about our connection. 

No, not everyone has a Dean.  No, most people don’t have a string attaching them to another person.  I don’t know why we do, but it is lucky, isn’t it?  

Then, came the confusing part.  Most people wouldn’t understand that Dean and I are connected.  Worse, if they knew that we were tied up to one another, they may try to break that string and separate us.  Just the idea of someone coming and snipping that pretty, perfect silver wire and taking my Dean away made me hurt everywhere, inside and out.

_I know,_ Dean told me, and I could feel how the thought hurt him as well.  _So we will keep it our secret, because no one else could ever understand, right?  Not even Dad, okay Sammy?_

I remember sending yellow sparks of determination and conviction across the pretty, silver string.  I didn’t mind having a secret with just Dean.  He and I had so many things just us; I kind of liked it that way.  I was never alone, because I had him.  It was so much better that way.  I was so glad, that we weren’t like everyone else.

I think that made a huge difference.

~

With so few interactions with the outside world, when I was very young, I thought that “Mommy” was the name of a feeling.  Sometimes, when we were alone, Dean would go all quiet and still, and I would feel this crushing sadness radiating off of him.  It was navy blues and blacks, twining and twisting, curving around his spirit until it nearly choked out all the light and stole it away. 

During these moments, I could hear the faint whisper of “Mommy” from Dean’s heart and soul.  I quickly associated the word Mommy with that awfulness that would take over Dean sometimes, until I simply couldn’t stand it anymore.

I learned that when that happened, I could curl myself around Dean, and just hug him and grin and snuggle and nuzzle, no matter how much he attempted to push me away, and it would be okay, eventually.  He couldn’t keep it up forever, and the more I smiled and snuggled and held on, sending the images of grins and tickles, pink bubbles and rainbow bursts of laughter and happiness, and eventually Dean would end up grinning, then smiling.  He would attempt to hide it behind his hand, but I could feel the change deep inside him, the crush of oppressive sadness lightening to bright sunshine and sparkling, bouncing bubbles of rainbow-tinted joy. 

Sometimes, the Mommy incidents would be few and far between, spread apart to a sprinkling here and there; nothing too terrible or big to worry about.

But there was one week when Mommy appeared day after day, and the progressed into an entire day.  Admittedly, we were in an awful situation.  We were in the middle of Maine, midwinter.  It seemed to snow, nonstop, there.  The house Dad had left us in was small, and awful, full of drafty windows and crappy heat.  We were running low on food.  Then, on the day that we lost power, the cold seeped so far into the house that even under every blanket we could find, both of us were still shivering.

That was the day Dean was so full of Mommy, and I was so cold and hungry and frustrated, and I didn’t want Dean to feel Mommy anymore, I said it out loud.  “I hate Mommy.”

Next to me, Dean froze, then turned his head and looked up into my eyes, incredulous.  “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘I hate Mommy.’” 

The wave of black inside Dean shifted to a burning, flaming red, and he leaped from the couch, scattering blankets everywhere in his speed to jump away from me.  “Don’t you ever say that, Sammy!  Never!  You hear me?!”

And I didn’t understand, because why wouldn’t he hate that terrible feeling inside him?  Did he want to feel like that?  I was now cold and confused and hurt, so I did the stupid, childish thing, and lashed right back at him, “I HATE MOMMY!!!”

It is the only time in my childhood that I remember Dean ever hurting me on purpose, but that is exactly what happened.  He took two storming steps toward me, and slapped me across the face, before I could even react.

The resounding sound of the smack seemed to echo off the bare walls of the room forever.  I slowly raised my hand to my cheek, gaping at Dean, as involuntary tears sprang to my eyes. 

He seemed just as shocked as I was, as if he didn’t realize what he was going to do before me did it.  “Sammy... I...”

I did start to cry then, turning and fleeing toward the bedroom, throwing myself across the bed and sobbing.  All I wanted was Dean to not feel... that.  All black and awful, full of sadness and darkness and nothing light and happy.  It was making me feel so sad and terrible and it wouldn’t go away. 

Now, I just felt even worse, and so did Dean.  I felt it seeping through the bond, though he tried to yank it back, pull and mask it.  That purple-blue bruise of hurt, disgust with himself at what he had done, self-loathing...

“Sammy..?”  Dean called from the doorway, hesitantly.  “Can I come in?”

I nodded into the pillow, but I refused to lift my head up and show Dean my tears.  I felt the mattress shift as Dean came to sit next to me.  He placed a hand on my lower back, fingers creeping under the hem of my shirt until his palm rests on the small of my back, bare skin exposed to his hand.

Rather than speaking aloud, he sent me first his absolute contrition for his action.  _I am so sorry, Sammy._   Flashes of shock and shame flood me through him, disbelief that he could actually do that, and disgust with himself for his inability to control his actions.

I can’t help it.  No matter how upset I am, I can’t let Dean feel that way.  He never deserves to feel so horrible.  That is what started this mess in the first place - me not wanting Dean to feel so awful. 

I turned around and threw myself into Dean’s arms, wrapping myself around him like a vine.  I sat in his lap, my legs clamped around his waist, my arms around his neck, my head on his shoulder.  It is the best position I know to make Dean feel better; all wrapped around him, as close as I can get to crawling inside him.  I pressed my lips to his neck, and whisper, through both mouth and bond, “It’s okay, Dean.  I forgive you.”

He squeezed me back, resting his cheek on top of my head.  This was, and still is, my favorite place to be as well - all safe and wrapped up in Dean’s strong arms.  When in his arms like this, I feel as if nothing would ever dare to harm me, because Dean is everywhere, keeping the terrible things at bay.

Well, except when those terrible things live inside his own heart, eating away at his insides, and through our connection, my insides.

Dean must have caught onto some of my thoughts, because he whispered to me through our connection, full of confusion, _Why did you say that, Sammy?  You didn’t even know her._

I was full of grey confusion.  _Her?  Who are you talking about?  I hate when you feel all... Mommy._   To illustrate, I sent him a flash of the oppressive sadness that seemed to seep and ooze from him at terrible, Mommy times.

_Oh, Sammy_.  And he pulled me impossibly closer, rocking me a bit.  I think it was to make him feel better just as much as it was to comfort me.  _That feeling is when... is when I miss our Mom._  

Then, he showed me an image of the most beautiful woman in the world.  The best thing about her is that she has Dean’s gorgeous, vibrant green eyes.  The image changed, and I was seeing her through Dean’s eyes, looking up at this woman in a hospital bed, holding a little bundle wrapped in her arms.  She smiles and says to Dean, “Come and meet your new brother.”

The scene switched to Dean looking down at what must be a baby me, as he rests his head against the beautiful woman’s shoulder.  He looks up at her, and she smiles down at us with such love in her green eyes.  _Mommy_ whispered Dean, in our thoughts, and the image slowly faded away.

Dean lifted his head, and waited until I looked at him before he continued aloud.  “Do you see, Sammy?  She was our Mom, and she was amazing.  She gave me you.  But she had to go away to heaven to be with the angels.  Sometimes... sometimes I wish she didn’t have to leave us, you know?  And then I feel really sad because we won’t get to see her for a long time, and I miss her.

“So, please, never say that again, Sammy, okay?  You can’t hate her, because... because she loved you so very much.” 

Dean’s hand pressed to my lower back again, under the shirt, and he sent me another beautiful image.  This time, Dean is standing next to a crib, and Mom is holding the baby me, rocking back and forth in a wooden rocking chair and singing softly.  Her voice is light and twinkling; it sounds like an angel.  I realized that is why she had to leave us; heaven called her home.  In her pretty white nightgown and her angelic voice, singing a lullaby, she didn’t really belong on earth.  That must have been heaven’s way of bringing Dean and I together; they gave us an angel for a mother.

Through Dean’s eyes, I watched as she finishes singing, and then lays baby Sammy into his crib, stroking the baby’s head and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.  She turns to little Dean, and smiles softly... and Dean let the image fade away again, lifting his hand away. 

He must have picked up on some of my feelings, because he agrees with me.  “Yeah, Sammy.  She was an angel.  And since angels watch over us when we sleep, she watches us every night.  I think we both need to remember that, and neither of us will feel so sad, right?”

I nodded emphatically, and snuggled closer to Dean for a moment.  I then clambered off his lap, and grabbed his hand.  “Come on, Dean!  Let’s go curl up on the couch with the blankets.  I don’t want you to be cold.”

He smiled at me, but followed me out to the couch, swinging our clasped hands between us, playfully. 

It was a bad fight, one of the first and only I can remember, but in the end it was helpful.  He still sometimes felt sad, but never again was it that crushing darkness he used to feel.  I think he remembered that day that Mommy is watching us from heaven, and it helped make him feel better.


	7. Chapter Four Coda

** Chapter 4 Coda **

**_Pastor Jim_ **

I finally convinced John Winchester to bring his sons here to meet me, and hopefully stay here at the rectory during his next hunt.

It took him awhile, before he warmed up to me enough to admit that he had two sons. Even longer to admit that he didn't trust anyone enough to leave them with, so instead he chose to abandon the boys in random locales with the older son watching the younger.  I was mildly concerned about that, especially since it seemed that a demon had touched the Winchester Family's lives once already.  It wasn't until I learned that Dean was nine and Sam was only five that I became truly frightened and appalled. 

Has John lost track of his senses in the midst of this quest of his?  I know how Hunters can be; I have been helping to fight the evil in the world for most of my life.  But such young children, left alone?  I spent three nights in a row, having nightmares about all of the things that those boys may encounter on their own, especially if John, heaven forbid, is seriously injured on a hunt and never makes it back to the rest of his family.

I called and begged John to let me meet his family, and act as a second contact for his boys.  Someone they can call if anything happens and John is "busy."  We both knew I didn't just mean busy, and I think that helped convince him.  He is aware of the danger of the life he is choosing to lead; he must know that his boys need someone else to be there for them.  Plus, as I explained, the rectory is huge, and I live there alone.  If he needs to travel for a length of time, the boys would have a good, safe place to stay with me. 

The comfort of a guest bedroom they could share; plenty of church property to explore; and, best of all, a thrice-blessed fence to keep the demons out.  That last part is, sadly, the biggest selling factor to John.  He will leave his boys in ramshackle ruins if he has to, but safe from the demon?  That is important, truly. 

Regardless of my methods or his motivation, John agreed to bring his family, as he insisted, "Just so the boys can meet you, in case there is an emergency and they need someone to call."

When I heard the growl of the Impala, I walked outside to greet them.  John stepped out of the car, and moved immediately toward me, which seemed strange.  Wouldn’t he turn to assist the boys from the back seat?

However, that didn’t seem necessary.  Dean, it had to be, climbed out of the bench seat in the back, turning to automatically assist who could only be little Sammy, as he slid across the bench seat and reached for Dean’s hand to assist in leaping out.  Dean pulled Sammy aside by the hand and closed the car door, before moving to stand beside his father.

Interestingly, he never let go of his brother’s hand.  Shouldn’t that be strange, two boys of their age holding hands, even as brothers?  From the experiences I have had with children, young boys in particular, that is around the age when they decide they want to be all strong and independent, too cool for that touchy-feeling nonsense. 

Apparently, that is not the case for these boys.  It seems perfectly natural for them, not even an obligation to Dean to look out for Sammy, as I had feared his attitude may be, what with John leaving him in that role constantly. 

John placed one hand on Dean’s shoulder, and the other on Sam’s head, and make the formal introductions.  “Jim, these are my sons, Dean and Sammy.  Boys, meet Pastor Jim.”

Still holding hands, the boys stepped forward.  I turned first to the youngest.  “Hello, Sammy.”

I am greeted with the most adorable little down-turned mouth.  “Please call me Sam.”  At the nudge from his brother, he adds, “Sir.”

I attempted not to laugh.  “Sam, it is,” I said, as seriously as I can manage.

Dean stepped forward then, and held out his right hand to shake.  “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

I reached out to take his hand, and my world changed forever. 

I had been praying to the Lord, dedicating my whole life to him, and I never knew what the phrase “touched by heaven” meant until that very moment.  Dean was heaven blessed, saints watched, angel visited. 

My mind jumped to one of my favorite scenes in the Bible, when Mary visits Elizabeth to share the news of their dual pregnancies.  Mary calls to Elizabeth and the baby in Elizabeth’s womb, the soon-to-be John the Baptist, leaps for joy at the sound of the mother of his Savior. 

I felt that myself, my heart jumping, leaping for joy.  I was filled with elation and faith in God, in our Lord, who has chosen this unlikely child, a Hunter’s son, to visit.  I felt it then, a bit of his mission.  It is to protect his Sammy.  Dean will be so important to this world, and it is because he has chosen to **protect Sam**.  Somehow, that choice will protect and save us all.

I vowed to myself, then and there, that I will do anything and everything in my power to protect this child, and his young ward.  That is the reason my Lord had been giving me nightmares.  It was to get me to have John bring his boys to me.  They need all the help they can get, and I will give it to them.

I realized that Dean is looking at me strangely; I am midway through shaking his hand, still.  I wonder if he knows that the Lord has breathed upon him, and chosen him for this blessed purpose.  What better a choice than a Hunter’s son, being trained to fight evil from a young age, to be the champion of heaven?

I looked into his eyes and see a glint of fear.  This is not a topic to bring up in front of John, I can tell.  All the more reason for me to convince the Winchester family that staying with me if a good choice for everyone. 

I smiled brightly at Dean and finish our handshake.  I will keep my thoughts to myself, now.  Now, my new purpose is to make these boys feel comfortable and safe in my home.  They will need to build all the reserves of rest they can manage.  The angels don’t touch individuals who don’t need their divine assistance.  These boys have a rough road ahead.


	8. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went through quite a bit of revision, and I'm still not in love with it, but it is a necessary building block. I REALLY want to get past this foundation laying and start in on what I consider the real plot, so I stopped fussing with this chapter and just posted it. If there are any glaring errors, please let me know. Thanks!

** Chapter 5 **

**_Dean POV_ **

After Dad took us to talk with Missouri, we managed to hide our connection relatively well.  Any abnormalities between Sam and I, most people chalked up to our strange upbringing, our tragic loss, and the way Dad was raising us in the family business.  I really started to believe that would be it.  We would be safe from the others, as long as we managed to keep things as normal as possible.  How naïve I was.

The September after Sammy turned five, we were staying in a ramshackle apartment in the heart of Cleveland, Ohio while Dad was working on a case of disappearing factory workers at the nearby textile factory. 

I had made sure that Dad had us settled somewhere and actually enrolled us at school a couple blocks from the apartment by the first day of school; he tended to lose track of those things when he was in the midst of a hunt.  I was determined that Sammy get to have some normalcy, something he had been looking forward to for years.  I wanted to give him his first day of school with all the other bright eyed, happy little pipsqueaks on his Kindergarten class.

That first day, I attempted to keep our connection as silent as I could.  He was so excited to start school; I didn’t want to interrupt him and take away from his learning.  Plus, Sammy had not had a whole lot of experience hiding the bond on his own.  I was terrified that I would send something to him and he would be obviously distracted in class, or do something unusual, and everyone would somehow know.

I shouldn’t have worried, though.  Sammy was always so much more than I expected, at every single turn.  He “yelled” at me that first day, when I picked him up from his classroom.  He stormed right up, and grabbed my hand, using the physical connection to zap cracking, maroon-tinged “shouts” I couldn’t ignore - _WHY DIDN’T YOU TALK TO ME ALL DAY?!_ He attempted to mask the other emotions simmering under the anger, but I caught the _scared, hurt, lonely, worried_ weaved underneath the maroon aura of frustration.

I led him from the school, hand in hand, the whole time sending murmurs and soothing apologies.  _Didn’t want to bother you; you should be focused on your classwork; want you to have a normal experience._

A block from the school, Sam looked up at me, smiled and said, “Oh, Dean.  I don’t want to be normal.  I just want us.”

He then proceeded to ramble about his whole day for two hours, presenting me with information papers to fill out and his meticulous artwork on things that began with the letter ‘A.’

After that, I stopped worrying as much.  I realized that for Sammy to focus, he needed that connection with me to be wide open, and always accessible.

So for the next two weeks, we walked to the School 74 together every weekday morning.  Sammy would hold my hand, sending excited little sparks of blue and green and blush zipping along the bond, nearly skipping next to me in his excitement to start another day of school.  Throughout the day, Sammy would send out gentle, blush-tinted tendrils toward me, merely to check in, or send brief updates, just to feel connected, even while apart.  And when we left school and walked home, hand in hand, Sammy was just as excited to explain to me everything he learned that day.

Me, well - I could care less either way.  By that point in time, I knew that I wanted to go into the family business like Dad.  I never wanted another family to feel the pain of losing what we had lost.  If dedicating my life to being a Hunter would make a difference, I knew I had to do it.  Plus, I already had a second job - take care of Sammy.  This bond - it was always and everywhere, forever and ever.  That was my first calling.  I didn’t have a whole lot of time for school in addition to giving Sammy everything he deserved to have that Mom wasn’t there to give and Dad couldn’t remember how to handle.

That wasn’t to say that I didn’t do my work, or didn’t try in class.  It was easier to be considered normal if I made sure to stay out of trouble.  Besides, by being a general “good” student, I was given more privileges that assisted me in helping Sammy.

For example, the teachers turned a blind eye if I was a couple minutes late to class, since they knew I always walked Sammy to his classroom first, made sure he was happy and settled and he had given me his desperate, grasping hug.  Otherwise, I knew, even though Sammy adored school, he wouldn’t be able to focus in class, constantly reaching through the bond for me, questioning, uncomfortable with our required distance for the duration of our classes.  Keeping in the good graces of the teachers ensured that I could be for Sammy what he needed, and really, what else was I there for but to be Dean to my brother’s Sam?

On a typical Wednesday morning in late September, after Sammy had been properly delivered to his Kindergarten classroom, I was seated in my Fourth grade classroom, prepared to endure yet another long day of boring irrelevancy. 

Midway through the Math lesson, I caught a sudden jolt of panic slice through me from Sammy, and then a sonic boom of _RED, PAIN, DEAN!_

I shot out of my seat and fled toward the door, my only thought to get to Sammy.  Looking back, I realize that everyone had also leaped from their seats, students screaming and shouting, crawling under their desks and covering their head with their arms.  At the time, though, all I knew was that Sammy needed me, NOW.  Not even the horrendous migraine filling the hole in my mind where Sammy’s soft thoughts usually resided could slow my steps.  The ice pick driving through my head merely pushed me to move faster.

I ran down the access steps leading from the Fourth grade wing down to the Kindergarten rooms on the first floor, my heart in my throat, Sammy’s name on repeat in my mind, calling him over and over.  My panic continued to ratchet up each time I received dead air back through Sammy’s end of the bond. 

I threw open his classroom door, and took in the chaos before me.  Children were screaming and crying, cowering under tables.  Shattered glass littered the floor along the wall with the windows, and had reached quite far into the classroom.  And, amid all the insanity, lay Sammy, head cracked open and bleeding, unconscious.

It was my worst nightmare realized; Sammy hurt and bleeding because I wasn’t there to prevent it.

I slid to his side, gently tilting his head to get a better look.  He was bleeding pretty badly; there was a deep gash where he seemed to have cracked his head against the table behind him.  I yanked my T-shirt off over my head, and pressed it to the wound.  I looked up into the stunned eyes of the teacher and shouted, impatiently, “Would you call a damn ambulance, already?!”  I had to glare her down a few seconds until her brain synapses started firing and she managed to hurry toward a phone.

Once I knew medical help would be on the way, I focused on connecting with Sammy through the bond.  I managed to pull him from the tipped over chair, and into my lap, while still maintaining pressure on his head wound.  Then I leaned forward, touched our foreheads together, and closed my eyes - reaching, looking, feeling for the silver filament that tethered my heart to Sam’s. 

All I kept thinking was that I just need him to wake up, to get better, to be okay.  What seemed like a lifetime later, I felt a fluttering of lilac questioning as Sammy floated back toward consciousness and me.  The answering fluttering of his lashes, little butterfly kisses against my cheek, finally gave me breath in my lungs again. 

As my mind reconnected with Sam, I felt a tug along the tie between us, the possibility of drawing from me, and I jumped at it.  _Yes, please, take anything, pull from me, all of it, everything, give and give and give until he is better, stops bleeding, is my Sammy again._

I can’t say how long we stayed that way – Sam, barely conscious, and me, pulling from this pool of warmth near the base of the tether tied to my heart attempting to fill the broken places I could feel inside Sammy with light and warmth and _heal, **please** heal_.

We didn’t move until the paramedics came rushing in, and dropped down beside us. 

_Dean?_ I received from him, as I pulled back and his blue eyes opened and locked with mine.

I will admit it, tears sprang to my eyes.  I managed a watery smile, and kissed his forehead, just so happy and relieved to have my Sammy back.

I allowed them to move Sam from my arms, but I would not let them separate us completely, and they seemed to understand that it would be a pretty bad idea to pull us completely apart at the moment, especially when Sammy looked panic-stricken when the paramedics began to move him.

That panic quickly switched to me when I heard what the paramedics were saying. 

“Jim, there’s no wound, here.”

“There has to be; look at the blood soaking the kid’s shirt.”

“Well, if there was, it’s closed up on its own.  Have you ever seen something like that before?”

Somehow, I knew that the wound was sealed because of our bond.  How the hell was I going to explain that? 

Thankfully, the paramedics seemed content enough to proclaim Sam fine, as I heard a more pressing emergency sound through their walkie-talkies.  The teacher didn’t seem to make too much of a fuss, either, especially since the administration had a school full of broken windows and frantic children.

I checked in with my teacher before I took Sammy home, to apologize for fleeing from the class.  It was from her I heard the going story.  There was a gas flare up from the furnace, causing an invisible wave of energy to burst through the building.  The result was the windows in every classroom shattering under the impact.  Since the windows shattered outward, most of the glass ended up outside the school rather than in.  Thankfully, she assumed I felt the wave, and knowing how protective I am of my brother, ran to make sure he was safe. 

Every student that could produce blood from a glass shard cut had the wound inspected for glass fragments and a Band-Aid slapped on it.  Without any other major injuries, the school sent everyone home and canceled classes the rest of the week to give them time to replace the windows and clean up the mess.

Sam’s teacher was convinced that Sam’s accident was caused by the sonic wave through the school.  Something strong enough to blast out the windows could have easily unsettled a small boy tipping back his chair on two legs enough for it to fall all the way back and him to smash his head.

Unfortunately, with Sam’s help, I had pieced together the real story.

Sammy was tipping his chair back in the midst of explaining some amazing, scientific discovery he had learned about on PBS last night.  In the process of gesturing wildly to explain his point, he lost his balance.  That moment of panic I received was the jolt as Sammy felt his balance shift too far and begin to fall.  He cracked his head, and that sonic boom I felt of pain and fear from Sammy wasn’t just to me - it was a wave of power, blasting from him as his head flared with pain and he lost consciousness.  A blast of power strong enough to shatter every damn window in the two story schoolhouse. 

The other part of the story was just as disconcerting.  I had used the bond to heal his injury.  A head wound, bleeding enough that he should have needed stitches, bad enough he was knocked unconscious.  I miraculously healed his wound, somehow without even a concussion.

I didn’t know what to do with all this information.  The bond was one thing, but this?  This was more than a simple connection.  This was strong and powerful and mildly terrifying.  And Hunt-worthy.  We were definitely passing from unusual and progressing right into territory where every damn Hunter will want to get their hands on us.  Like it wasn’t bad enough that we were bonded.  In our circle, our father among them, we would be unnatural, supernatural, evil - and most definitely something to hunt.

Sammy was nearly silent, both vocally and through the bond, the entire walk home.  His tight, sweaty grip on my hand, however, betrayed his thoughts and feelings perfectly.  He was as frightened and unsettled as I.

The minute we stepped into our apartment, I couldn’t wait any longer.  I dropped our backpacks by the door and tugged Sammy with me until we reached the sad, saggy couch in the living room.  I dropped onto the middle cushion and pulled him down into my arms, facing me, his short legs straddling my lap.  I could tell he needed the reassurance of touch as well, because he quickly wrapped himself tight around me, his legs around my waist and arms twined tightly around my neck.  He buried his face against the crook of my neck, pressing his lips to my skin.  Then and only then did he finally drop the walls he had been holding up against the bond.

I floated on his emotions, the bright auras blanketing the terrifying images of his day.  And that is what he was still feeling, terror.  _Dean - what am I?  What is wrong with me?_

I pulled him tighter, wishing, not for the first time, that we could simply meld into one being.  _You are Sammy, and there can be nothing wrong with that,_ I sent, laced with the absolute certainty I felt at my core.  Sammy was just that - Sammy.  He was mine and he was amazing, no matter what.

_But, Dean, I... I couldn’t control it.  I don’t even know what it was!  But… but it came from me.  It burst from me!_

I ran my fingers through his hair, in an attempt to calm us both.  I was just as terrified as Sammy, but we didn’t both need to be freaking out.  I needed to step up, and be what Sam needed me to be, the Dean who makes everything alright.  _So, we already knew we were different.  Apparently, we are different in some other ways besides the bond.  We will figure this out, I promise you.  I won’t let anything bad happen to you.  And, apparently, if something does happen, I have the miraculous power of Sammy healing available!  That part was pretty cool, right?_

Reluctantly, I felt Sammy begin to release some of his anxiety and listened to his harsh breathing begin to even out.  And, as usual, the gears started turning in the giant brain of his.  God, I loved to be able to watch his mind work. 

_The healing was helpful.  I wonder how that works?  Can it go both directions through the bond?  What did it feel like, Dean, when you did it?  Maybe we could recreate the scenario..._   and on and on like that.

I continued to hold my Sammy as he speculated and puzzled out our new found powers, actually feeling some measure of contentedness myself.  I had my Sammy in my arms, and while we had discovered we were even farther from normal than we thought, it wasn’t a terrible thing.  We could figure it out.  We had each other, and that was the most important thing in the world. 

And maybe, with these new powers, we could learn to better hold on to one another.  I could keep Sammy safe from the evil in the night, from the demon that had taken our mother, and even from the mundane, like tipping chairs and banged heads.

By the time our father returned from his hunt, it was next Thursday.  The school had settled down, our own insecurities had been addressed and calmed, and he never even heard of the incident of the mysterious furnace sonic boom.


	9. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. With this chapter, the plot's arrived! Enjoy!

** Chapter 6 **

**_Dean POV_ **

Dad gave up long ago on attempting to take me on hunts alone with him and leave Sammy back at whatever shithole we’re staying at that month.  Whenever he would try, Sam would spend the entire time sitting up and worrying, a complete nervous wreck.  I would be useless to Dad anyway, because my worrying was nearly as bad; always afraid something would happen to Sam if I wasn’t there to keep the evil away, and continually reaching to Sam through the bond, to make sure he was safe, and to assure him that I was okay as well. 

Dad didn’t know about the bond; all he knew was that his sons seemed unable to function apart, and they both needed to be trained in the family business so we could help out and watch his back, saving as many lives as possible.  So, if he couldn’t just take one, he would take us both, consequences and danger be damned.

About a month after Sammy turns eleven, Dad decides that he has the perfect hunt to bring us both on.  He had been stepping up our training the last few months, and he thought that we could handle being his backup.

The case involves a spirit who has been plaguing a neighborhood.  Dad tracked the origins of the spirit to the local “haunted house.”  He believes that the girl in question had been dared to stay in the house all night, and then the boys who had talked her into it used it as an excuse to corner her, rape her, and leave her there to die, her body buried somewhere inside the walls of the dilapidated mansion. 

When she never returned, the legends of the haunted house grew.  Unfortunately, this was also due to the fact that the girl herself, after such a violent death, had set up camp and was working to terrorize the locals from her new haunted post.

Dad’s plan was simple.  Sam and I were to play distraction to the girl’s spirit, traipsing about and shooting her with rounds of rock salt while Dad searched the house, found her body, and salted and burned the bones.

With both Sam and I there, we could watch each other’s backs and things would be fine.  Just one, relatively contained ghost.  She was also tied to the house, so if shit went south, Dad insisted we could easily bail on the house and she couldn’t follow us far past the front door, if at all. 

Things were progressing fine for a while.  The chick had shown up twice so far, and Sammy and I were taking turns firing at her, backs to one another - not a problem.  Of course, that is always when shit hits the fan. 

I hear a thump from the direction Dad was last heading.  Sam and I both turn to look, and the next thing I know, I am being shoved aside by Sammy, who steps between me and the incoming spirit chick, brandishing his shotgun at her.

Before he can take the shot, however, the ground seems to shift, suddenly; a crack like a gunshot echoes across the house.  I think it is Sammy, firing the shotgun, until I realize we are both in free fall, heading through a rotted patch in the first floor and quickly toward the basement.  I reach out and pull Sammy on top of me right before we both land on the unforgiving cement floor, doing my best to cushion his impact with my own body.

With an almighty thump, we land on a pile of broken boards and a dusty cement slab of a floor.  My head cracks painfully against the ground, and stars swim before my eyes.  I manage to keep hold of consciousness long enough to see Sammy sit up, seemly uninjured, and reach for me.  Secure in the knowledge that Sammy made it relative safety through the landing, I let the darkness come.

~

I slowly crawl myself toward consciousness, looking for the usual silver filament that connects me to Sammy to guide me back.  I can’t seem to find it in my grogginess, and that alone seems to assist me in shaking the cobwebs from my head.  I manage to open my eyes and turn my throbbing head from side to side, looking for both Sammy and the spirit that caused us to fall through the floor. 

When neither one comes immediately into view, I manage to sit up and get into a better position to see.  My hand shifts on the gritty ground as I move, the sound of that alone assaulting my ears, and directly through them to my brain, aggravating the pounding into a piercing pain stabbing through my temples.

I lift my hand, moving toward my face to massage my head, when I catch the glimpse of yellow.  Disbelieving, I moved my hand into the light, and stared at the grime covering it.  Yellow powder.  I sniff it carefully, not wanting to believe it.  Sulfur.  My hand is covered in sulfur.

The thumping in my brain forgotten, I reach through the bond, searching for my link to Sammy, needing to know that he is safe, here, okay. 

For a moment, I get a flash from him, tinted bright red and orange - _fear, panic, DEAN, oh my God, a demon!_ \- and then, blackout, nothing. 

The disconnection from Sammy HURTS.  It all hits me at once, the pain in my head, the lack of Sammy, the block up of the bond, a demon!  I turn my head and throw up the meager contents of my stomach, heaving again and again, until all that comes up is a trickle of bile. 

I turn away from the puddle, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.  When I smell the rotten egg stench of the sulfur still there, I almost turn to attempt to throw up again.  Oh, God.  I was right here, and still Sammy is gone.  He’s gone, taken by a demon, and I can’t feel him.  I can’t feel him or reach him, and it hurts and he’s afraid and alone and taken by evil.

I am immobile; I am useless.  I curl up in a ball, my legs drawn up against my chest, my arms circling them, and bury my face against my knees.  All I seem able to do is continue to call out for Sammy, vocally, internally, again and again, reaching and searching.  I don’t even realize that I am sobbing until I notice the knees of my jeans are drenched in my tears.

That is how Dad finds me - sitting beneath a broken hole in the floor, on a pile of broken floorboards, a broken Dean.  


	10. Chapter Seven

** Chapter 7 **

**_Dean POV_ **

I hear Dad's shout, above me, but I am too lost to care.  His voice disappears and a few moments later, I hear footsteps bounding down the rickety stairs leading to the basement. 

Before I realize what is happening, Dad yanks me up into his arms, and hugs me.  "Dean, are you alright?"

All I manage to whisper back is a broken, "...Sammy..."

Dad is pulling back, forcing me to stand, and grabs my upper arms, leaning down into my face.  "Dean, where is your brother?  You are supposed to look out for him.  Where is he?!"

I can't even find my voice.  I simply hold up my sulfur-smudged hand for his inspection.

He grabs and yanks my hand toward him, holding it up to the light filtering in from upstairs.  I can tell the minute he realizes what it is when his hand tightens painfully on mine.  "How could you let this happen?!" he thunders.

But I can't answer him, because I can feel Sammy come back online through the bond.  I yank my hand out of Dad's grip and bark, "Give me a minute!"

I close my eyes and focus, blocking out everything around me.  I am so relieved.  I send reassurances through the bond, telling Sammy to hold tight, and that I will find him.  He's popped up on my radar; if I can focus hard enough, I know that I can follow of the silver tether from my heart straight to where Sammy is.

As I hone in on Sam's location, I feel him start hyperventilate.  He is tied and bound in a closet, and along with his inability to move, the inevitable claustrophobia is beginning to set in.  He had always hated being immobile. While most babies seemed to enjoy being swaddled in receiving blankets, Sammy despised it, struggling until he could get his arms free.  Of course, he usually wanted them free so he could touch me, and we could “talk." It doesn’t surprise me that some of his panic is due to not only being tied and confined, but also to being away from me. 

I connect to him as close as I can, and lace my whispered thoughts with the strains of one of Mom's lullabies, the ones I used to translate to thoughts so very long ago.

I am sure that Sammy is breathing, and has managed to put aside his panic for now, when I am sent and shaky, yet determined, blast of yellow confirmation.  The shade of the aura reassures and grounds me as well. I need to get it together, for Sammy.  He needs to feel nothing but solid confidence from me. And, if I am to properly concentrate on finding him, I need to not be freaking out myself.

I shake my mental gears into place, latch onto the general direction I can feel Sam pinging from, and open my eyes. 

Oh, God.  Dad.

He is staring at me like I have lost my senses, which to him, must be what it looks like.  And, unfortunately, if we are going to fight a demon, I am going to need all the help I can get, and that means enlisting the assistance of my father.  I need to let him know what I know.

"Dad, yes, I let Sammy be taken.  But he is being held by a demon and he is scared and in trouble.  The important thing is finding him, as quickly as possible. You know that. 

"He is as calm as he's going to get.  And I have an idea which direction he is in. So, we need to move.  Now."

I lean over, scoop up both mine and Sam's shotguns, and head toward the stairs.  "You took care of the spirit chick's bones, right?" I call over my shoulder.

When I don't receive a response, I turn to look at my father.  He is standing there, near gaping at me.  And _not moving_.

"We need to go.  Come on!"  I insist yet again.

But he still isn't moving.  "Dean, how do you know where Sam is?  What do you mean, 'he is as calm as he is going to get?'  One of my sons is missing, and the other just stood there, closed his eyes for nearly five fucking minutes, and suddenly declared he knew how to find his lost brother.  What the hell is going on, Dean?  I demand some answers!"

And I lose it.  There is just too much, with Sam gone, and a goddamn demon, and having to tell Dad about the bond (at least some of it).  As the closet Sam is being held in rattles open, and I feel Sam being dragged to a chair, it is all nearly too much.  "It is what it is, sir!  Now I am going to save Sammy, with or without you.  So do you plan to help me or not?!"

I storm up the stairs, following the tether that ties my heart inexplicably and completely to my Sammy.  I say a prayer to the angels that I make it there in time, and hopefully with both of us in one piece.

Then.... then we can deal with the ramifications of this with our father, and the horror of this situation for both Sammy and I.

My steps are spurred on by the pain blossoming across both mine and Sam's cheeks from the backhanded slap with demonic force.  Shit.  This is heading south way too quickly.  I send waves of calm and strength toward Sammy, and push my steps faster, breathing a bit easier when I hear my father’s heavy footfalls behind me.  _I’m coming, Sammy_.

**_Sam POV_ **

I awake to panic.  Mine, at not knowing where I am or where Dean is.  Dean’s, for pretty much the same reasons.  Before I even manage to open my eyes, Dean is reassuring me.  _Don't worry, Sammy.  I am going to find you, and I am going to get you out.  You just sit tight until I can get to you, alright?_

I take a deep breath, and send _Okay._ Whatever this is, I will endure until Dean can get to me.  Really, I can do nothing else.  Dean will always come for me, and I will always be waiting.  It would kill Dean if I wasn't.

Now that I had reconnected with Dean, and both of our panicked feelings had settled down to a moderate Worry, with a capital 'W' (and sadly, that was a grave improvement), I decided it was time to make an assessment regarding my actual situation.

I think back to Dean breaking my fall through the rotted floorboards of that abandoned mansion.  You know, after I shoved him out of the way of a charging angry spirit.  As always, Dean and I seem to be tit-for-tat.  I attempt to protect him, and he just up and goes protecting me right on back.

After we crash-landed through to the basement, I moved to make sure Dean was okay.  He blinked up at me before his eyes slipped closed again.  I felt the disconnect from the bond, the way it always happens when one of us unfortunately gets knocked out and falls unconscious.  Attempting to breathe through the pain of the sudden loss of Dean in my head, I was completely unprepared for the hand that reached down, grabbed me by the back of the neck of my jacket, and hauled me up and away from Dean.

I kicked and struggled, fighting through the pain spiking in my head and sudden nausea while making efforts to get free.  When I realized his iron grip was not letting up, I attempted to get a look at my kidnapper, nonchalantly trying to get a hand into my boot to grab for my knife.  My panicked messages to Dean became increasingly desperate in the hopes that he would miraculously sense my panic and wake the hell up.

As usual for us, it all happened at once.  I felt the reconnection to Dean, just as the demon (and that is who it had to be, with black, onyx eyes glaring at me) noticed my hand reaching for my boot knife.  I sent as much information to Dean through the bond as I could in the split second before the demon raised his hand and brought it down across the back of my head, knocking me out.

I open my eyes to mere slits, and attempt to glance around without actually appearing conscious.  I quickly realize that I am alone, laying on the floor of a dark room.  I open my eyes further, waiting for them to adjust to the dark so I can get a better look around. 

I seem to be in some small, walk-in closet, as I can see an empty metal bar for hangers above my head.  My hands are bound tightly behind my back, pulled tight enough that my hands are beginning to pulse and ache, on the edge of cutting off circulation.  My ankles are also bound in such a manner, pulled tight and taut and awful.  I shift my ankle, but don’t feel my knife in my boot.  Unarmed, then. I attempt to try some of the escape maneuvers Dean has been teaching me, but the bonds are way too tight to wriggle out of. Painful tight. 

I can feel my chest starting to get painful tight as well.  Great.  Small space, bound in the dark.  Weaponless.  No Dean.  I am beginning to hyperventilate.

Then, through the bond, waves of soothing green and loving blush.  S _hhh.  It's okay.  Just breathe, like we practiced.  Deep in and deep out.  You are okay, there is enough air.  I am with you, I can feel you and you can feel me.  I am coming for you.  We will be okay.  The angels are there with you.  Just keep breathing, my Sammy.  I'm on my way._  

I take another deep breath as Dean draws away from being actively inside my thoughts.  I attempt not to whimper at the loss.  Dean has to draw away so he can focus on finding me. I just need to keep calm and wait.  I am okay.  Dean will come for me.

I force myself to banish the panic and fear, and put it into a compartment deep within my mind to visit another time.  Then and only then do I send Dean a bright yellow aura.  Confirmation and promise.  I will make it happen.

Just when I am starting to get myself calm and centered, the door to the closet rattles, obviously being unlocked.  I attempt to sit myself up and brace for whatever is incoming.  No matter how set I was, even with my eyes closed to slits, the flood of light into my little place blinds me. 

Before I gain back enough vision to see my captor (or captors, who the hell knows at this point), I am yanked by a hand on my upper arm, and dragged out into a room with a wooden floor.  I am dropped unceremoniously into a wooden chair, and a rope is wrapped around my torso, holding me to the chair, in addition to the ties around my wrists and ankles. 

I blink my eyes a few times, and manage to get a good look at my kidnapper.  He is definitely a demon, with the soulless, jet black eyes swallowing up any color or light in the irises.  He is contained within a beast of a man, tall and obviously strong, without just the demon enhanced strength he seems to also possess.  His broad shoulders add to his monstrous look, and I am convinced that he could easily break me in half if he had a mind to.  As it is, the cut of the rope wrapped multiple times around my torso is not helping my outlook of the situation.

"Hello, little Sammy," the demon growls as he leans down into my face. His breath reeks of coppery blood and the rot of death and decay.  I believe the body he has been in has been dead for a while, and the only thing keeping him animated is the evil being shoved inside, filling the dead crevices with hate and rage.  "It was such a shock to see your family roll into town.  Imagine my grand surprise when you and your brother walked into that haunted house with your Daddy.  Here I had thought to have the chance to take out Papa Winchester.  Who would have thought he would deliver the chosen child right into my hands."

"Christo!" I shout at him, and spit in his face. 

He winces back at the blessed word, and snarls.  "That was stupid, little boy."  He backhands me across the cheek for my trouble.

"I guess we are going to have to teach you how to be nice, huh?"  He reaches into his belt, and draws out my knife, the one I usually keep stashed in my boot, the one I was attempting to reach as he dragged me away from Dean and the safety of his arms.

He inspects the blade, testing the sharp edge on his thumb.  I watch a drop of blood appear from the nick and think about Dean teaching me to use the whetstone to sharpen the blade to a beautiful, razor-sharp edge.  The blade Dean himself had given me for my tenth birthday.

The demon grins maniacally, and moves toward me, blade edge kissing my cheek like a lover.  "Let me teach you some manners."

I close my eyes, and send a fervent prayer to the angels.  _Please, help Dean find me.  Hurry!_


	11. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very excited to post this; this is my favorite chapter so far. Enjoy!

** Chapter 8 **

**_Dean POV_ **

I step outside the “haunted” house, and reach around, searching for the direction the filament tied to Sammy is leading.  I hear Dad step up behind me, and look to me expectantly.

“Okay, where are we going?”

I feel for the radar-like ping from the bond, and indicate to my right.  “This way.”

Dad and I barely take two steps before the demon decides to take a knife, Sammy’s own knife, the gift I gave him to keep him safe, to his flesh.  I hiss at the pain, hand reaching for my cheek as I pick up my steps.

Even knowing where this is going, I am completely unprepared for the searing slice down my right side.  I double over at the intensity of the pain.  I am so distracted, rather than whispering exclusively through the bond, I am whispering aloud as well.  “Deep breath, Sammy.  That’s it.  I’m on my way.  You can handle this, you are so brave, my Sammy.”

I take a few deep, centering breaths myself, and haul myself to an upright position. 

Dad is standing there, giving me an expectant look.  I am not going to get any real help out of him until I give him something to work with.  Plus, he needs to know the severity of the situation.

“Sam and I… during really intense situations, we can feel one another.  Right now, a demon has Sam and is slicing him open.  I can feel every single wound.  I know I need to fight through the pain to find him, because when we are connected like this, I have a relatively easy time locating him.  But you may have to keep dragging me along if this gets bad.

“Hopefully, Sam will be able to hold onto consciousness.  I wish he could just slip into sleep and escape the pain, but I need him awake in order to find him.”

I look up at Dad, hoping like hell he is worried enough about Sam to not notice the obvious lies I just told him.  “And the talking?  Can your brother miraculously hear you, too?”

“Yes!  Yes, okay?!”  Another long, painful slice down Sammy’s arm occurs.  The demon is drawing this out, making it as slow and painful as possible without doing any real, immediate and irreversible damage.  Good.  He wants Sammy alive for something, as I had expected, when all he did was capture him and not kill him outright.

I struggle to keep my pain and anger and fear from tickling down the bond to Sam, and send him only strength and assurance.  I grip my arm, but start power walking in the direction Sam is mentally screaming from.  “That is cut number three, already.  Your son is tied to a chair, and being tortured by a demon with his own knife!  I would think your bigger concern would be finding Sam, no matter the method.”

Dad nods, decisively, and keeps pace beside me.  “Agreed.  Give me whatever information you can, and we will get Sam out alive, and banish that demon back to hell where it came from.  But know this – we will be discussing this connection you have to your brother when this is over.”

“Yes, sir,” I mutter, reluctantly.  I will deal with it later.  Right now, Sammy is my one and only priority.

We reach the Impala, parked down the street from the haunted house, and Dad attempts to get in the driver’s seat.  I walk up to him, putting my hand on the driver side door and holding out my other hand, palm up, impatient for the keys.  “I know which way we are going.  It’ll be faster if I drive.”

Dad glares, but refuses to comment, merely handing me the keys and hurrying to the passenger door.  Even the comfort of the growl of the Impala as start the engine can’t calm me.  The demon is dancing the blade across Sammy’s stomach, and Sam can’t hold back the scream, this time.  His voice sounds so young reverberating around the near-barren room he is being held in that goose bumps ripple across my flesh.

I am talking aloud again, but I don’t care.  The waves of pain through the bond, combined with attempting to focus on moving and locating Sam, while dealing with our father – I need the vocal component to assist with the mental connection.

“Shh… it’ll be okay.  It’s not too deep, I can feel it.  He just wants to scare you.  He has a purpose for taking you, he won’t go too far.  You are so strong and so brave, Sammy.  Just hold on.”

My foot turns leaden on the gas pedal and the Impala squeals toward its direction.  The demon didn’t take Sammy far, thank God.  Ten minutes by car, tops, and we should be able to get inside and get him out.  I just keep sending Sammy _soon_ , though.  I am worried that if he has a time in mind, if Dad and I are late, he will slip into despair and then he really will be lost to us.  Lost to me.

_Soon, Sammy._

 

**_Sam POV_ **

I try to keep my breathing as calm and centered as I can make it, but the pain from the multiple shallow (and some not so shallow), bleeding cuts across my body keeps flaring up at me, making it so much harder to remember what I was supposed to attempting to stay calm and conscious for.

_Come on, Sammy.  You can do this.  You gotta stay conscious for me, how else will I find you?  I’m getting close, I promise._

That's right.  I need to stay focused for Dean.  He is coming to get me, and then it will be all better.  But if I black out, the connection goes dead, and then how will he locate me?  I just have to take a deep breath and fight through this.

“Are you ready to listen to me now, my dear Sammy Winchester?”

I glare at the embodiment of evil in front of me, but refuse to respond.  The last time I did started this bladed torture session.  Of course, it probably would have gone down the same way with or without my rude response, but no need to add more gasoline to the fire.

“Well, I am just going to talk, and I want you to listen, Sam.  We have been looking to get our hands on you for a while, did you know that?  Your father and brother do a good job of concealing you and protecting you, but not today, huh?

“Today, you get to learn all about the destiny that your Daddy found out about and had been hiding, trying to pretend it doesn’t exist.

“Did you know, Sam, that you are to be Hell’s Boy King?  It is you that the demons shall rally behind as their leader and commander to storm out of the gates of hell and raze the earth.  And, oh, it shall be a magnificent day, don’t you think?  You know you have those incredible powers.  They will be so helpful when the day comes for you to lead us.

“Most of the denizens of the pit believe we have years and years before we will see you rise to your full potential and power.  But me?  I think you just need a bit of knowledge and a whole lot of encouragement.  What do you think, Sammy?  Are you ready to follow your destiny and accept the crown Boy King and General of the demon horde?”

I sit there, stunned by this demon’s audacity.  “Are you insane?  Well, yes, of course you are.  I am the son of a Hunter!  Why would I ever want to lead an army of demons?!”

The demon grins, and leans down into my face, obviously enjoying the tidbit of information he is about to impart on me.  “Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy; why are you a Hunter’s son?  Why did Daddy Winchester start this lovely family business?”

“A demon murdered our mother!”

The grin turns mock sympathetic.  “Yes, a demon killed your mother.  How tragic.  Did you know, who he was really after?  A demon was giving you a portion of his demonic powers.  He was preparing you to become what we need; a new powerful leader of hell.  Mommy dearest just happened to get in the way of his plans.  She was merely a tragic casualty.”  He pouts, insincerely.  “Sorry.”

Oh, God, it’s me.  It is me.  It is all my fault!  I am the reason we don’t have a mother.  I am the reason that Dean is Motherless, and trying to raise me.  Because of me, Dad is miserable and depressed and bent on the destruction of every Supernatural being he can get his hands on.  It is all my fault!

The pain of my physical injuries pale in comparison to the horror that assaults me from inside.  I am a monster.  I drew a monster into our home, and I will end up as a monster.  My powers are hell-given.  The angels can’t watch over me; only the demons seem to be doing that.  Mommy isn’t here to watch me.  She watches Dean because I killed her, and he needs to be protected from me.

Dean!  How can he be connected to me?  Is that a demon gift, too?  Am I going to be the reason he gets hurt, gets killed, too?  Will Dean end up being another casualty, just like our Mom?

The demon can see the turmoil in my eyes.  He places a finger beneath my chin, raising my head until I lock eyes with him.  Mine, I know, are starting to swim with the beginnings of tears I attempt to keep at bay.

“Yes, Sammy.  Now you see how it is.  This is the destiny that has been laid out before you from birth.  You will be one of ours.”

I take a deep breath, and say, “Dean is coming for me.  You’ll be sorry when he does.”  But, my heart isn’t in it.  I am terrified that Dean will be hurt or killed, because of me.  All of it, because of me.  Oh, God, he is going to hate me.

“Dean is coming, huh?  That is only if he can find you.  Though I bet he can, now, can’t he.” 

The demon circles around the chair, looking deep within me.  I felt dangerously exposed, and long to wrap my arms tight around my chest and scream. 

“I can feel it, you know.  You two are bonded.  But I assure you, with your consent, we could find a way to sever that little bit of messiness.”  And somehow, the demon reaches out, unerringly, and runs a finger along that beautiful, shiny silver thread that ties me to my brother.  Once he finds it, he plucks it, as one would a guitar string. 

I gasp at the pain of it; so much worse than any other forms of torture.  I can feel a flash from Dean.  The vibrations slam into his heart, sending him to his knees on the sidewalk.  He clutches at his chest, gasping, tears springing to his eyes...

“Stop! Please, stop it!”  The demon grins and nods, plucking it once more for good measure, and then, thankfully, moves his hand away from the tether.

 

**_Dean POV_ **

Eight and a half minutes later, I pull the Impala up to the curb, and leap from the seat.  Sammy is barely holding on to consciousness.  We are still a few houses down from where he is being held, but I dare not park the car any closer, for fear of alerting the demon to our imminent arrival.

I lead the way along the sidewalk, until I feel a cold shiver down the silver filament of the bond.  Then, suddenly, the string is plucked by an outside hand; a terrible, horrible force I never expected to be able to see it, let alone attempt to actually touch the tether.   The reverberations slam into my heart, and before I realize it, my knees give out, and I land hard onto the sidewalk, my hand scrabbling at my chest.  Tears spring involuntarily to my eyes at the sudden, overwhelming, uncomfortable pain of it.

Another pluck, and another set of vibrations rock the bond, and I have to breathe through the nausea of the whole body twinge radiating out to consume me.  When the reverberations finally come to an end, and I come back to myself, Dad is gripping my arm in his attempt to steady me through something he doesn’t understand.

“I’m okay,” I assure him, and then climb to my feet, still pressing a hand against my throbbing chest, right where the silver thread leads out of my, normally taut and untouched.  I pretend that I can hold it steady, and it gives me the ability to put aside the ache and keep moving.  We are so close to Sammy now; just a bit further and I will have him safe in my arms again.

We pass one more house, and then I nod to the quaint little house on the corner of the street.  The innocuousness of the hideout astounds me.  It could be any other picturesque house in suburbia.  However, I know that inside those walls, on the second floor in a small, empty bedroom, my brother sits bound to a wooden chair, bleeding and tortured by a demon.

We move stealthily to the front of the house, not daring to make any sounds of communication to one another and alerting our target of our arrival.  Dad crouches down automatically to begin using his lock picks on the front door, and I move to keep an eye out for any danger, or simply nosy neighbors who may see a potential break-in and choose to call the local authorities.

 

**_Sam POV_ **

“You see, Sammy.  It’s not so hidden to individuals who know what to look for.  And life is all about free will.  You can will this away, real simply.  Then, you wouldn’t have to worry about hurting Dean.  You wouldn’t have to worry about us hurting Dean, either.  You could simply take your place as our leader, and leave all of this behind.  Your family would be safe, and you would be strong and powerful; a perfect specimen of a leader.”

I don’t want that.  I don’t want to be taken away from Dean.  I need him.  He swears to me that he needs me as well.  But... but what if he would be better off without me.  Did he really choose to be bonded to me for the rest of his life?  And if he did, he definitely didn’t know who I was or what I am supposed to become.  They want me to be a general of hell!  I am the reason that Mom was killed, and our dad became a Hunter.  I am the reason we move constantly, and Dean has to watch me and follow Dad’s orders.  Maybe Dean would be better without me here.  Maybe it would be a good idea to break our connection. 

“If... if I chose to break our connection, would it hurt Dean?”

The demon moves around me, standing tall, obviously pleased by the turn our conversation is taking.  “Of course not.  It would be as if the bond was never there in the first place.  No adverse effects to either side, you or him.”

I consider the thought for a while, and finally ask, “What would I need to do?” 

He paces around to in front of me, and crouches down, so we are eye to eye.  “All you need to do, Sam, is will it away.  Find that connection, and imagine a giant pair of scissors, snipping it.  Will it into being.  Think about choosing to be free from your brother, disconnected forever, cut away and free.  That is how free will works.  You know all about that, right?  Accept free will, and will yourself free.  You know you want to be, Sam.  Set your brother free.”

I am full of indecision and turmoil inside.  I could do that.  I could set Dean free.  He would probably be better off that way.  Who wants to be tied to a demon’s chosen one, the killer of his own mother?  Then he could get on with his life, and not always be stuck taking care of me. 

But he always says he needs me just as much as I need him.  Is it just the bond?  It is painful when the bond cuts out; of course he would need me.  Without me around, he feels that pain of the bond, the connection between us, suddenly cutting out.  But if I will it away, he won’t ever have to feel that again.  It would be the selfless thing to do, let my brother be free of the burden that is me.

I nod my head, take a deep breath, and...

 

**_Dean POV_ **

As I watch Dad’s back as he picks the lock, I attempt to link up with Sam again. For some reason, the bond seems to be muted.  I can still feel that Sammy is there, inside, so he hasn’t dropped unconscious or anything.  But is almost as if he, himself, is drawing away.  I can feel the silver wire tying us together begin to narrow and pull, chafing against my heart and soul.  The empty places inside me Sam always fills to brimming are beginning to fill with darkness and doubt. 

Pushing through the connection more fully, I finally manage to make some of his thoughts out.  It’s like a bad connection on a phone, cutting in and out, so I hear snippets of his thoughts and dialogue with the demon.

By the time Dad has the door open, and we are creeping up the stairs, I realize why the bond suddenly seems to be pulled so taut, almost to snapping, to the breaking point.  That is the point.  Sammy is thinking about breaking the bond.  The demon; God, I don’t know what the damn demon said to him, but Sammy is a ball of turmoil and doubt, self-loathing and self-hatred, believing the selfless thing to do is to free _me_ from the bond, like it is some burden he has placed upon me.

I want to shout at him, but we are so close to the bedroom, or really torture chamber, door.  If I give us away now, the demon could grab Sammy and run with him, and who knows if I will ever be able to find him again.  Or, if he will even be alive for me to find next time.

The bond is so distant and weak; I can’t even seem to send him anything through the bond, either.  I will my father faster down the hall, praying to the angels, to Mom, not to let Sammy finish this thought.  Just give me another minute.  Please.

Then, we are at the door, and Dad gives me a silent countdown.  Our tactic is implicit.  Dad will take care of the demon; my job is to get to Sammy.  That is always my job.  Please, Sammy, let it be my job for our lives.  Please, please, please…

 

 

**_Sam POV_ **

The door to the room flies open, Dean and Dad slam through it.  Before I know what is happening, Dad is on the demon, punching and fighting, getting him away from me.  I hear him chanting loudly in Latin, the demon’s answering grunts of pain as Dad begins exorcising him from this plane of existence.

Ignoring Dad, Dean immediately rushes forward, knife in hand, and is cutting me loose.  The minute I am free of my bonds, Dean hugs me to him, and then shakes me, screaming and crying, “Don’t you dare do it, Sammy!  Don’t you dare even think about it!  I want it!  I want our bond!  Please don’t leave me!”

I am blasted with Dean’s fear and panic.  He is nearly sobbing himself, whispering under his breath, “I choose this bond.  I choose this bond,” over and over again, his own mantra.  I realize he is chanting in the hopes that his free will, his desire and claiming of the bond, will counteract me thinking about tossing it away.

I wrap my arms around him, finally feeling safe in entirely too long, and realize that I don’t want to give this up, either.  I don’t want to be free of this.  I don’t care if it is selfish or unnatural or whatever!  I need Dean.  I need to feel him connected and tethered to me.  I need to be able to feel what he is feeling, and hear his thoughts, and just be with him, forever and always.  I wouldn’t be me without Dean.  I need him filling up all the little cracks and crevices of my heart and soul, so I never have to feel empty inside.

The bond reconnects with a snap, like a rubber band that has been pulled tight suddenly being allowed to spring back to its rightful, natural shape and size.  I can finally breathe again, for the first time Dean and I fell through the floor.

I feel the answering surge of Dean’s own emotions.  His utter agreement with my thoughts and feelings, and a solid wall of _mine, no, you can’t go and leave me, so empty without you, I am for you and you are for me, my Sammy, always and forever, so scared and worried, and then I felt you trying to pull away, deciding to cut the bond, just no!  Please... no..._

I bury my face closer into Dean’s warmth, the smell of his leather jacket and gun oil sending pulses of perfect and home zinging through me.  I don’t move again until I hear Dad’s Latin chanting come to an end, and an almighty roar as the demon evacuates the poor, dead body he was inhabiting.

Dad checks the pulse of the corpse now laying on the floor in front of him, and then reaches down to close the dead, staring eyes of the man who once had the misfortune of housing a demon.  He then walks over to Dean and I, and knees down on the floor next to us.

“Sam?  Are you okay?” he asks, reaching out for me.  Dean releases his death grip on me, and Dad opens his arms.  I leap into them, as if I was a baby, and he holds me tightly for a moment, before pulling back to inspect my injuries.

“I am so glad you are alright, son.  Let’s get you cleaned up at the motel, and then I think we should go visit Pastor Jim.  I will feel much better once we are within his blessed fence.  Plus, I think we need some insight on why demons are suddenly so interested in my son.”

I nod my head, and climb carefully, painfully to my feet.  Now that the rush of adrenaline is fading, the pain of my physical injuries is nearly overwhelming.  I notice Dean, next to me, wince in sympathy, as the pain radiates through me and into him.  He stands as well, and puts his arm around me, leaning me against him so he can support most of my weight.

As we move to the door, I notice Dad looking at the both of us critically, and the realization hits.  Dean used our connection to find me so quickly.  Dad was with him.  Dad knows about our bond.

My eyes shoot up to Dean’s, looking for his reaction.  He nods his head once, slightly, and assures me, _We will deal with it later.  Right now, I want to get you home so I can heal you up, okay?_

All I can think, as we step out the door toward the Impala is that I don’t have to go anywhere.  Dean is holding me; I'm already home.


	12. Chapter Nine

** Chapter 9 **

**_Dean POV_ **

The worst part of the trip to Pastor Jim’s is being trapped in a car for two hours with Dad, who continually keeps looking at us in the rear view mirror.

Sam and I are stilling like we usually do when Sammy is tired.  He is laying on his side, draped across the bench seat in the back, his head pillowed in my lap, and his back pressed to the seat back.  I am stroking his mop of hair, sending soothing little pulses of content and happy down the bond, in the hopes that I can ease Sammy into some semblance of rest and relaxation.

Unfortunately, I can tell that it isn’t working.  No matter how much Sam attempts to block his feelings from seeping through the bond, waves of self-loathing and self-hatred keep crashing against me.  I wish I knew what the demon had said to Sammy to make him feel that way, but all my tentative inquiries through the bond are gently but insistently pushed aside.

We need to talk, but it has to be when I can pull Sammy properly into my arms, look him in the eye, and make him tell me, completely, what happened today.  That isn’t going to happen in this car ride.  It is bad enough Dad knows what he does; we don’t need to have a full out conversation about Sammy attempting to will it away.  Knowing our father, he would probably jump right on that bandwagon, attempting to force Sam into breaking the amazing thing that we have between us.  And in his current mental state of being, I am not convinced that Sam won’t just up and choose that.

Besides, what we need right now, especially Sam, is some rest and healing.  I sat and painstakingly stitched up and bandaged the many wounds the demon had inflicted on Sammy while Dad had called Pastor Jim to inform him of the situation and check that we were welcome; that Pastor Jim wasn’t in the process of harboring someone else.

Dad is always weird like that.  He trusts so few people; if any other Hunters were there, even though we need the protection, he would have probably chosen to go elsewhere.

Regardless, it gave me the opportunity to assess the damage to Sammy’s flesh with my own eyes.  With each stitch, and each gauze-wrapped cut, I pushed and willed my essence into each and every wound, hoping to heal them as quick as possible.  Even now, I am pushing and willing, having learned long ago that with physical contact and the desire to make Sammy whole, he can be healed.  Just another thing that I have no idea how I am going to explain to Dad, but I just couldn’t care anymore.  I can’t stand to see Sammy hurt; if I can heal him faster, then so be it and consequences be damned.  At this rate, Sam will be nearly healed, at least physically, by the time we reach Pastor Jim’s rectory.

I am already sitting here apprehensively, waiting for the moment that Dad can’t keep his curiosity to himself any longer and demands some answers, from both Sam and me.  And it seems that the time is now.

“So, boys.  Do you have anything you would like to share with me?”

My knee-jerk reaction is to answer with, “No, sir.”  But I have a feeling, after everything that Dad had to blindly accept and wait to question later, he would pull the car over, take off his belt, and beat me until I learned some manners.

I can feel Sammy closing up, retreating through both the bond, and burying deeper into the back seat and my lap.  I get a flash of Sam, imagining the Impala swallowing him up.  I guess this is up to me.

I try to keep it safe, and throw out a question.  “What would you like to know, sir?”

“How long?”

“For as long as I can remember.”  There, that’s not quite a lie, but certainly not the truth.  I remember before this bond, and I certainly remember accepting the bond, forever and ever, but no need to share that with Dad.

“Sam?”

He mumbles from my lap, “The same for me, sir.  As long as I can remember.”

Dad nods, accepting this.  “Dean, you said that you were connected.  You could tell where Sam was, and some of what he was thinking.  Obviously, you managed to tell what he was feeling.  Is it all the time?  Can you choose when and if you feel that?  Is there anything else about this ‘connection’ I should be made aware of?  Such as, why have you been hiding it from me?”

I get a flash from Sammy, again.  A deer in headlights.  Well, then.  I suppose it is my job, to divulge enough information to satisfy Dad, without giving away too much and having him absolutely freak out.  I am constantly terrified that if he knew how broad and deep and encompassing this bond is, he will find a way to break it, or simply separate us until it snaps under the distance and pressure.

“Honestly, sir, it is one of those things that is so natural to us, since we’ve always had it, that for a while we didn’t realize that it was... unusual.  Once we did, well, we didn’t really make a conscious decision not to tell anyone.  We just tried to be normal.

“If I really focus, I can feel a pull toward the direction Sam is in.  Also, in intense situations, I can tell what he is thinking or feeling.  The more intense the situation or the feeling, the better chance I have of picking up on it.  A knife would is pretty intense; I could feel those very clearly.”  I meet my father’s eyes through the way point of the rear view mirror, hoping that this is enough to satisfy his curiosity and end the questioning.

He nods his head, slightly.  Good.  “Fair enough.  It did come in handy today.  We will need to do some more research on this, but for now I just want you boys to focus on feeling better.  We all had a pretty rough day.”

“Yes, sir,” we chorus back to him, the relief palpable between us, even without the connection of the bond. 

~

Pastor Jim's rectory has never before looked like such a sanctuary to me.  All I can think about is getting Sammy out of that car, away from Dad, and into the spare bedroom, where I can finally just hold Sam in my arms, connect through the bond, and figure out how to make Sammy better.

Mentally and spiritually better, that is.  His physical wounds are just about healed; though, as we usually do when one of us heals unnaturally fast and Dad is aware of the injury, Sammy will continue to wear the bandages. 

We climb out of the backseat of the Impala, and my arm naturally falls across Sam's shoulders.  I can see the sidelong glance that Dad gives us.  This is going to get old real quick.  That look was full of suspicion and disapproval, with an undercurrent of contempt and disgust, just for good measure.

I think back to Missouri's warning, all those years ago.  Dad is not going to be able to handle this.  I start prepping myself, unfortunately, for the coming battle with our father.  I swore, long ago, that my primary responsibility was to Sammy and to Sam alone.  I am a Winchester, and I believe in family and fighting together to save others.  I think I was born to grow up and be a Hunter.

However, in the end, I think that the most important reason that I was born to be a Hunter was so I could protect Sam.  Already, he is drawing some awful things to him.  From the hints I am getting through the bond, I don't think it will be stopping at just this one demon. Thanks God our lifestyle and training will prepare us for whatever may be thrown at us.

And I am starting to fear that, first and foremost, what is going to be thrown at us is a confrontation with our father.  I am nearly positive that he would not harm Sam, intentionally.  But, with his paranoia about anything supernatural touching our family, linked straight back to the first touch of evil taking our mother, I am concerned that in his well-meaning way, he may hurt Sam under the veil of saving him.

Regardless of these uneasy thoughts, I refuse to change my mannerisms to suit my father's unease.  Sammy, catching onto my decision not to change our behavior, even with Dad's sudden knowledge, sends a relieved burst of blush colored love through the bond, and he leans into my side.

I can tell that our almost separation, even though it was initiated by Sammy, has really shaken him up.  While he is attempting to shield some of his thoughts and emotions right now, there is definitely a current of openness through the bond, a reaching and searching, a needing for connection on all levels, both through our silver tether, our minds and souls, and a tactile, physical embodiment of it as well. Sammy was never meant to be alone.  That is why I was made for him.

I pull him a bit tighter against me, and together, in unconsciously synchronized steps, we move to the porch to greet the anxiously awaiting Pastor Jim.

He steps off the porch to greet us, immediately enveloping us in his arms.  As usual, he doesn't make any effort to separate us, merely accepts what is the collective entity that is Dean and Sam.  As his arms encircle us both, he leans in and whispers, wholeheartedly, “I am so glad that you are alright.  You are safe within these walls; take all the time you need to rest and recover.” 

The answering little half-grin from Sammy makes both myself and Pastor Jim smile.  With one last squeeze, Pastor Jim draws away, and holds out his hand to Dad.  “John.  It is good to see you.  I’m glad you decided to come hole up here for a bit, and let the Winchester family rest.”

After greeting Dad, he turns back to us.  “Why don’t you boys head up to the spare room?  It is late and it’s been a long day for you.  You can get settled in and get a bit of shut eye.  There are some things your Dad and I should talk about anyway.”

I know that this is Pastor Jim’s way of giving Sammy and me some private time away from our father, and not a dismissal, as it probably sounded to our Dad.  I am so thankful for Pastor Jim, some days, especially ones like today.  He seems to instinctively know that we need our time to talk and connect away from our father, and always manages to make that happen at his rectory. 

I give him a genuine smile, and answer for both of us.  “Sounds good, Pastor Jim.  We could use the rest.  Thanks.”  Without giving Dad a chance to insist otherwise (I can tell he wants to talk to us more, especially to Sam about his encounter with the demon), I wrap my arm around Sam again and corral him toward the stairs.  I can’t let Dad get to Sammy before I do.  I need to know what the hell happened to shake Sam up so much, inside and out, before Dad attempts to cross examine Sam and twist him up, intentionally or no, more than he already is inside. 

Sammy and I climb the stairs as one unit, nearly conjoined from shoulder to hip.  We enter the spare room, that has become a haven, and the closest we have to a home base, beside the spare bedroom at Uncle Bobby’s.  Both Pastor Jim and Bobby always insist that we can take the room, and persuade Dad that the couch is fine for him.  I know, in their own way, they are both attempting to protect us.  When they can, both attempt to give us as normal experience as possible.  Of course, we leave the room and sit in libraries, researching demons and ghosts and all sorts of monsters, discussing Hunting tactics over breakfast and coffee, so normal is always a relative term.  But the sentiment is always acknowledged and appreciated by Sammy and me.

Upon reaching the room, I close the door behind us, and pull Sam toward the bed.  I immediately climb up, propping my back against the headboard, and hold open my arms for Sam, inviting him in.  I can feel the reaching need to touch zinging through the bond, but still Sam hesitates for a moment, standing by the foot of the bed, wringing his little hands.

I picture a cattle prod poking at his behind, and send the image to him.  He grins a bit, and shakes his head, climbing onto the bed and straddling my lap.  I wrap my arms around him and feel his head rest on my shoulder.  As always, I am amazed by how perfectly we fit, as if our bodies were made to be two puzzle pieces, only ever complete when locked together.

I want to prod him with questions, but first, what we both really need, is just us to be together, attached, and connected; enjoying our own private space, both in this room of ours and in our special mental and spiritual connection.

I want to let it wait, but the thought consumes me, and slip, trips, scurries down the silver filament from my very heart into Sammy’s.  _Why?_

That one simple word is so... vast.  I know it is accompanied by waves of hurt and confusion, sadness and loneliness and desperation and love.  Always, forever, full of so much love.  _Why would you push this, us, away?_

“I had to.  Well, I should have.  It would have been... it is the right thing to do.  But, Dean, I don’t want to!  I don’t want to lose us!  I...”  His words trail off, and he burrows deeper into my arms, latching on with arms and legs, suctioning himself to my front, and presses his lips to my shoulder.  I can feel the hot press of his cheek to mine, the flush of his face always a prelude to his tears.  His shoulders tremble with his attempt to suppress the sobs.

“Oh, Sammy.  Shh, now.  You don’t have to lose us.  Never!  I will never, ever want that!  Why do you think we should be separate?  What... Sammy, what happened there?  What did that demon say to you?  I couldn’t catch all of it, not while I was attempting to locate you.  Then I felt the bond weakening and I could barely hear you and... And it was awful, Sam.  It was terrible and I never want to feel that again.

“Please, Sammy.  Let me in.  Explain to me your thought process, here.  What were you thinking?  Please.  Help me understand.  I want to know how to help you.”

_I can’t!  When I do tell you, you are going to hate me.  And then you will want to leave me, and I won’t know what to do!  I don’t know how to live without you and this and us, Dean!  I don’t!  And if I do, if I..._   Sammy’s breathing is heavy, and he is on the verge of sobbing, I can tell.  The furniture in the room is beginning to do that low grade rattle that is always an indication that Sammy’s emotions are starting to spiral up and out of control.  His powers are about to manifest in earnest.  We certainly don’t need one of those outbursts with our father downstairs.

“Sammy!” I lace my voice, and the bond, with all the big brother authority I can muster.  As always, he snaps his head up to look at me, ingrained in him that when I call to him like that, I need him to listen and pay attention, to keep him and us both safe.

His eyes are swimming with tears, but the furniture has, blessedly, stopped it’s rattling and seems to be solidly affixed in its proper locations.  I look deep into his eyes, and send him as much conviction on every level as I can manage.  “I. Will. NEVER. Hate. You.  No matter what, Sammy.  You could come to me and tell me you murdered someone, in cold blood, for no reason, and I wouldn’t be able to hate you.  You are mine to love and cherish forever, and I don’t take that lightly.  This is it, forever, okay?  You can tell me anything and we will figure it out, but it will never make me hate you and it will never make me want to destroy our bond.

“Because, Sammy - I don’t know how to live without this, either.  I wouldn’t be able to live without this.  You fill up all the dark, sad places in me, and give me reason to exist.  I need that, each and every day.  I need you to be happy, so I can be happy, too.  So please, Sammy; share with me what happened.  Help me share this burden with you, so we can fix this.”

Finally, Sammy nods, and snuggles back into his place, tucked against my chest, with his head on my shoulder, his mouth pressed tight to the curve where my neck meets shoulder.  I know, to both of us, this is the most comforting position, the best arrangement of our bodies, to feel as close as we can to each other. 

Sammy has always been very tactile, especially with his lips.  He is always testing the feel of things by touching them to his closed lips.  When he can press them, not really in a kiss or anything, but closed and supple, still, to any bare skin of mine, he feels safe and calm.  And the best part is, with the bond, he can stay like that and still communicate.  I will also admit, that when he chooses to talk aloud, his breath ghosting over my sensitive neck, his lips brushing my skin - it sends pleasant little shivers tingling down my spine, wrapping around us both through the bond.  It calms me, too.

After a few minutes, just wrapped around one another, I feel Sammy’s emotions settle into a deep resolve.  He takes a deep breath, and opens his mind to me.

I see, though Sammy’s drooping eyelids, the demon pacing around to stand before him, knife in his hand still dripping with my brother’s blood.  I swallow the rage that attempts to assault me at that image, and focus on what the demon is saying to Sam.

_“Are you ready to listen to me now, my dear Sammy Winchester?”_

_“Well, I am just going to talk, and I want you to listen, Sam.  We have been looking to get our hands on you for a while, did you know that?  Your father and brother do a good job of concealing you and protecting you, but not today, huh?_

_“Today, you get to learn all about the destiny that your Daddy found out about and had been hiding, trying to pretend it doesn’t exist._

_“Did you know, Sam, that you are to be Hell’s Boy King?  It is you that the demons shall rally behind as their leader and commander to storm out of the gates of hell and raze the earth.  And, oh, it shall be a magnificent day, don’t you think?  You know you have those incredible powers.  They will be so helpful when the day comes for you to lead us._

_“Most of the denizens of the pit believe we have years and years before we will see you rise to your full potential and power.  But me?  I think you just need a bit of knowledge and a whole lot of encouragement.  What do you think, Sammy?  Are you ready to follow your destiny and accept the crown Boy King and General of the demon horde?”_

_“Are you insane?  Well, yes, of course you are.  I am the son of a Hunter!  Why would I ever want to lead an army of demons?!”_ Sammy rebukes him.

The demon grins, and leans down into Sammy’s face _, “Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy; why are you a Hunter’s son?  Why did Daddy Winchester start this lovely family business?”_

_“A demon murdered our mother!”_

_“Yes, a demon killed your mother.  How tragic.  Did you know, who he was really after?  A demon was giving you a portion of his demonic powers.  He was prepping you to become what we need; a new powerful leader of hell.  Mommy dearest just happened to get in the way of his plans.  She was merely a tragic casualty.  Sorry.”_

There is a break in the memory, as I feel sick inside, though I attempt to keep my sudden nausea under wraps.  Sammy will only think it is because I am disgusted with him.  I can tell, this is the revelation that he believes will be the reason I push him away.

But how could he think that of me?  How could he think so little of himself?  I am rocked by the revelation that Mom was killed trying to protect Sammy.  It doesn’t surprise me, though.  Our mother was fiercely protective of her own, as all of us Winchesters are.  If there was a threat to Sammy, she would have done everything in her power to eliminate it, even if it meant giving up her life.

And, Sammy is still here, so she did not give up her life in vain.  It still hurts, to know how we lost her, but it also makes me proud.  Mommy died a hero, protecting and saving her son.  Both of her sons, actually - because if I had lost Sammy then, I think I would have withered away and died myself.  She saved her boys, and that is brave and admirable.  I always knew she was amazing.

But I digress.  What is attempting to turn my stomach is the fact that Sammy’s powers are demon given, for the purpose of evil.  The demons believe that my Sammy is going to be their leader.  That, I know, will never happen.  But, it also means that this isn’t over.  Hell is come knocking for Sam again and again - how am I going to keep him safe from all that hell possibly has to throw at us?

I feel a nudge at the bond, and tuck my racing thoughts aside.  Sammy has more to show me.

The scene blurs and skips; I assume Sam is editing out his thoughts and emotions, jumping to what he feels I need to see.

_“Yes, Sammy.  Now you see how it is.  This is the destiny that has been laid out before you from birth.  You will be one of ours.”_

_“Dean is coming for me.  You’ll be sorry when he does.”_ That’s right, I’m coming!  I will always come running to find you, Sammy.

_“Dean is coming, huh?  That is only if he can find you.  Though I bet he can, now, can’t he.  I can feel it, you know.  You two are bonded.  But I assure you, with your consent, we could find a way to sever that little bit of messiness.”_

I watch, through Sammy, as the demon plucks our tether.  Ouch.  Just the remembered reverberations of that make my chest ache.

_“Stop! Please, stop it!”_

_“You see, Sammy.  It’s not so hidden to individuals who know what to look for.  And life is all about free will.  You can will this away, real simply.  Then, you wouldn’t have to worry about hurting Dean.  You wouldn’t have to worry about us hurting Dean, either.  You could simply take your place as our leader, and leave all of this behind.  Your family would be safe, and you would be strong and powerful; a perfect specimen of a leader.”_

The memory cuts off there.  I can tell there is more, obvious, about how the demon must have explained to Sam how the bond could be severed, but I have seen enough.  I can see why he believes I would hate him.  But, of course, as I assured him before this little sharing, I don’t hate him.  I am actually terrified for him. 

This giant burden has been placed on his small, slender, eleven year old shoulders.  As if our lives weren’t fraught with danger before, he now knows that he has been granted demon powers, for the express purpose of being recruited as Hell’s Child king and some sort of general for an army of demons.

I feel the shivers of uncertainty and fear shudder through his small frame, and I wrap my arms around him tighter.  I will not let them touch him. 

_I understand if you want to pull away now_ , Sam is tentatively sending through the bond, like he has any clue what I really want.

_Oh, Sammy_...  Words cannot even sum up everything that is flitting through my mind.  Unfortunately, because I can’t seem to find the words, I can feel Sam starting to pull away, assuming the worst.  I pull him tighter to me, and flood the bond with my emotions.

There is some fear there, certainly.  But I show him that it is not fear of him, but for him.  And there is hate, but only at the demons who hurt him and Mom, never at Sammy himself.  All I can feel for Sammy, as I promised him, is our special brand of bond-enhanced, blush-tinted love that circles and cycles back and through the bond again and again and again.

_We will figure this out, I promise, Sammy.  But together.  Always, forever, together.  You don’t have to handle this on your own.  I will protect you from the demons._

Since we are both so open through the bond right now, I unfortunately catch the uncertainty that Sam attempts to hide from me.  The little fleeting thought, the panic of, _But you couldn't keep me safe this time!_

I gasp aloud at the soul-deep pain that thought of Sammy’s brings to me.  But he is right; I couldn’t.  I couldn’t protect him this time, how am I supposed to protect him next time and the time after that.  This is going to be an ongoing thing, I can tell.  The demons, hell itself, will not give up Sammy so easily.  And why would they?  Sam is an amazing person, and he is only eleven.  He is going to continue to grow and develop and become a magnificent man. I can tell.  And then what will happen?  They are going to keep trying to take him away from me, force him to do things that he doesn’t want, has never wanted from his life.

I can see their plans now.  Knocking me out and stealing Sam away.  Attempting to sever the bond so I can’t find him, like they almost convinced Sam to do this time.  Or, worse, using me to lure Sam out, or taking me out to drive Sam into the darkness and evil. 

If they take me out, what is to stop Sam’s rage and grief from manifesting in these demon powers, and causing him to storm through the world, destroying, and essentially doing exactly what the demons want - unleashing his powers on the world?  And would I really be any different in that situation?  If I had the powers Sam seems to possess, and they took Sam away from me, as they almost did today, I would overturn heaven, hell, and earth, just to find him, and damn the consequences!

The bond, still open, is now full to brimming with my own bruise-colored shame and guilt.  That I couldn’t protect Sam; that I will be his demise.  The purple-grey of it, laced with zings of orange panic and alarm, and black veins of fear and distress, are nearly choking us both in emotions.  I can feel the tears slipping down my cheeks, as I pull Sammy tighter against me.  The feedback loop of our combined negative, volatile emotions are going to drown us both. 

Sammy, himself, is the one to manage to finally put an end to it.  **_STOP!_**   It is full of the commanding presence of his powers, but even though they are demonic in origin, they can never feel evil to me.  With me, those powers laced through Sam are always full of soft edges and love, full of the aura that is merely Sammy to me, through and through. 

Once I have managed to rein in enough of my internal panic to listen, Sammy “speaks.”  _Dean, it wasn’t your fault that a demon took me.  We weren’t even looking out for such an attack.  Now that we know, we will both be much more vigilant.  And, without you and our connection, I would still be in a demon’s clutches.  You saved me, and I know, with everything you have and all that you are, that you will protect me.  I never have any doubt of that, I promise._

_But you are right; it may not be enough.  If I lose you, I very well may lose myself and go crazy trying to find you.  That is why I want to make this bond as strong as possible, accept it as much as possible, so I can always feel you.  You will keep me grounded and safe, from the demons and myself, I just know it._

_In addition to that, though, I think I should learn how to use these powers._ Sam feels my knee jerk reaction to that, the instinctive fear and _No!_ that is bubbling up inside me, and cuts me off.  _Please, Dean, hear me out.  So, a demon gave them to me.  First, what better way to piss off a demon than to use them to fight against hell rather than for the demon horde?_

_Second, knowing how to control them will be helpful.  I won’t have to worry about them getting out-of-control, and unleashing when I least expect it.  Plus, I think they may be a way to help protect us both.  We need all the protection we can get, right?_

I nod, reluctantly.  I am not happy about it, but Sammy does have some excellent points.  Since we can’t let Dad in on any of this, we can’t enlist his help.  While I know it is not Sam’s fault that Mom died, Dad has been living without the love of his life for over a decade now.  I don’t want to believe that he would hurt Sam, but in my heart of hearts, the fear exists.  Missouri warned us not to let Dad know too much, or anything really, about how the supernatural has touched us both.  He is already privy to some of our connection, and the bond.  We do not need to break to him that Sammy has demon powers, and hell wants him to lead their army.

So, without the best Hunter I know ready to be on our side, we need to use every one of our resources.  Our biggest one is, sadly, Sammy’s powers.  Besides, it is about time we did something about learning to control them, and utilize them to the fullest.  Up until this point, mostly at my insistence, we have merely worked to suppress and ignore them.  That can’t be the healthiest approach.

_Okay, Sammy.  We will work on your powers.  Maybe we can find time, while we are here, to call Missouri.  She may be able to help us, or point us in a direction that we can follow to figure out what to do.  But we need to keep this under wraps_. 

I get a wave of agreement back from Sammy, and know things will be alright.  I reach up, and begin stroking my fingers through his hair, my other hand pressed flat to his back, holding him pressed against my chest.

My God, I almost lost him today.  I don’t want to think about it, but my mind keeps spiraling back to that dark place in my soul.  I wasn’t vigilant enough, and a demon attempted to take away the one thing that is most precious to me in the entire world.  How could I let that happen? 

And then, they almost convinced Sam that he should pull away from me.  He almost did, full of guilt and shame and disgust.  I am not picking up on any of that from him, anymore, but how can I be sure I managed to eradicate those thoughts and feelings from Sam.  What if he gets himself into a dark place and decides that he wants, or needs, to be free of me and this bond.  What would I do? 

I can feel the fear starting to fill me yet again.  I know this is unhealthy for both of us; what we need right now is security and rest, and to prepare ourselves to argue with Dad and to protect ourselves from demons.  But right now, all I can think about is how I am going to protect Sammy and me from ourselves and our own negative thoughts and feeling.  How can I make sure Sam knows how much I love and need him?

Apparently, I am not shielding as well as I think I am, because Sammy’s thoughts are suddenly wrapping around my panicked, flittering ones, full of soft edges and soothing, fleece-blankets of warmth and love.

_Shh, Dean.  I know.  I know and understand.  I never should have thought that way.  I need you and I love you.  I have never been without this bond and I never want to.  It is us, like this, forever and ever.  I promise.  Can’t you feel it?  Can’t you sense how much I love you?_

And I do feel as Sam goes and gathers all of his bits of love and need, his awe and worship of his big brother, and the feel of safe arms and safer feelings of contentedness and warmth, all the wonderful things that make this bond what it is, and he shoves them toward me, until I can’t even think about pushing them away.

The love and love and love underneath it all fills me to brimming, until I believe I may burst with all the overwhelming good, amazing emotions that Sammy is filling me with.  _That, Dean.  That is what I feel when I think about you, and we are like this.  It is everything that is good in the world, in my world, and my life.  It is everything I want to live for and fight for.  You are everything.  Can’t you see?  I love you, and I want to love you and be with you forever.  Bonded and connected and whole, just like this._

I am so overwhelmed, and so full of everything I had ever hoped that Sam might feel as well, this loop of good and love and perfect, circling back through me and into him, and I can feel him filling with my shared, returned emotions.  It is perfect in its intensity, brimming and bordering on both too much and not enough, never enough and...

And before I even realize what I am doing, I place my hands on both sides of Sammy, my Sammy’s, face, bracketing his ears, and cover his lips with my own.

It wasn’t meant to be anything more than the physical manifestation of the love we both feel, and physical need to connect in every way I could think of, to show him with body, as well and mind and heart and soul, what he means to me.

But Sammy responds, his lips parting slightly, and I instinctively dart my tongue out to taste his lips, to figure out what Sammy tastes like.  The intensity of the flavor explodes across my tongue, and as I head in for another taste, Sam’s tongue reaches out and gently touches mine.

All rational thought leaves me, and I am devouring his lips and tongues, his whole mouth with mine.  Sam meets me just as enthusiastically, and it is more perfect than I could have ever imaged it could be.  I had never let my mind trip along this path, but now I can see it suddenly thrown wide, the next step to the closeness, and the connection that is Sammy and I.  The very inevitability of this next step in our bond, the last step in full strengthen it to unbreakable by anyone, especially some stupid demons.

The only thing that could break this perfect, amazing connection, this moment in time that will, again, change everything for Sammy and I, forever... is the gasp from the doorway.

Sammy and I pull away from each other’s mouths, and simultaneously look in the direction of the sound.  In our distraction, we missed the sound of the bedroom door being opened.  And in the open doorway stands our father, mouth hanging open in shock. 


	13. Chapter Ten

** Chapter 10 **

**_Dean POV_**  

The shock quickly turns to thunderous anger and disgust, as our father takes a step into the room and roars, “DEAN!  Get your hands off your brother, you disgusting pervert!”

Sam and I both jump at the roar of Dad's words.  I have this awful desire to say something along the lines of, "It's not what it looks like," but I know that would just add fuel to this already raging fire.  Besides, it really is what it looks like.  I was just kissing my little brother.  Regardless of the circumstances, in our father's eyes, that is never acceptable.

I have no idea how to make this better.  Of course, my lack of moving away from Sammy is most definitely making this worse.  I choose, as always, to do as Dad says, and protect Sammy from the worst of Dad's anger.  Dad believes I am at fault, and as the older brother, the one meant to protect and cherish Sammy, I guess I am at fault.

I lift Sammy off my lap, moving him to sit on the bed next to me, on the side away from the door and our livid father.  I can see Sam opening his mouth to say something, and I shake my head once, and send the image of a brick wall through the bond, a clear indication to sit, stay, be quiet and let me handle this.

I move myself slowly off the other side of the bed, eyes on Sammy until I receive the little nod I was waiting for, the agreement from Sam that he will bite his tongue and let me handle this.  Once I have that assurance, I turn and stand tall, and take the last step that will leave me standing before Dad, and force myself to raise my eyes to meet his.

I was prepared for yelling and ranting.  What I wasn’t prepared for was the right hook that smashes into my jaw.  I hear Sam's surprised intake of breath and out of the corner of my eye see his hand leap up to meet his own cheek, touching on his own face the mirror image of where I know an impressive bruise is blossoming on my own.

I refuse to let Dad see weakness in me, and will my hand to stay by my side and not touch my jaw, instead clenching it into a fist to hold it steady.  I make my eyes open and meet his yet again.

Dad is breathing hard, harsh breaths grating through clenched teeth.  His hand is still fisted, and I think he may take another swing.  Instead, the shouting finally commences.

"What the hell have you done?  First, you tell me you can feel Sam wherever he is, and can find him.  Now, I find you molesting an eleven year old, your fucking brother, in a house of a man of God? You cannot be Dean.  You cannot be my son! 

"What the hell are you?  How long have you been invading my family?  Have you been a hell spawn child since Mary was taken from us?  Did you start corrupting my baby boy since then?  I trust my son, my Dean, to keep his little brother safe and all this time you have been sitting here, playing this game and biding your time until you can corrupt and pervert Sam as well?"

I have to admit, I never expected that. I never thought Dad would assume that I was nothing but evil, and not his actual son.  "Dad, it's me.  I promise.  I am Dean and I would never hurt Sammy.  I couldn't!  You saw how terrified I was, and how hard I worked to find him today!  We have a connection, but it is not evil.  I am not evil!  I swear it to you!  See?  Christo!"

I appeal to our father, but he is like a man possessed; he is thoroughly convinced that his new view of reality is truth.  Spittle flies from his mouth and hits me as he leans down in my face, red-faced and screaming, "To have infiltrated this family for so long, you must be powerful.  Strong enough to be able to fool the Hunters around you!  Dean may be lost, but you can't have Sam!  Get your claws out of my youngest son!  Break this connection so he can be free, or I will do it for you!"

I am truly becoming frightened, now.  I attempt one more time to appeal to him.  "Dad!  I swear, it is me!  I may have done some things wrong today, but I am your son!  I am Dean!  I am not evil!  I loved Mom!  I remember her and I loved her!  I love this family!  I am Dean Winchester!  Please believe me!"

Our shouting has alerted Pastor Jim, and he runs into the room, assesses the situation, and attempts to bring things back to order.  He places a hand tight around our Dad's forearm and tries to pull him back, "John! What are you doing?  That is Dean!  He is not evil.  I told you, I feel it.  I have seen it.  He is heaven blessed!"

Dad shakes off Pastor Jim's grip, and turns on him, while pointing at me menacingly.  "Jim, you have your signals crossed.  That... thing... cannot be my son, let alone touched by heaven.  I will not let him ruin my other son! I almost lost him once, today; I will not let the demons claim him again!"

I can tell, Sam simply cannot sit idly by any longer.  As Dad turns back to us, Sammy is in the process of clambering off the bed to throw himself into my arms.  Before he can reach me, Dad lunges forward, grabs a handful of the back of Sam's shirt, and hauls him up and away from me.

"I am taking Sam to be cleansed of this evil connection to a demon-spawn masquerading as my oldest son!  I will not lose this whole family to hell!" 

Our father turns, and yanks the kicking, screaming Sam over his shoulder in a fireman's hold.  I don't want to fight my own father, but he is taking Sammy away from me, intent on separating us, on breaking this bond.  He is convinced I am evil, and he will take Sam away and I will never see him again, never feel him through our bond!  Sammy is terrified, ringed in red and orange auras, panicked beyond imagining.

I see that Pastor Jim has moved to block Dad's path through the doorway of the bedroom, but I know that will not be enough to stop him.  I leap forward, intent on overbalancing my father enough that his grip on Sammy slips and I can get him away and into my arms.  Unfortunately, my father was expecting my retaliation, and my attack is met by a violent shove to my chest.

From there, it seems to happen in slow motion.  I tumble backward, arms pin-wheeling, and land hard on the ground, the wind knocked out of me.  The sudden pain of that, with everything else going on, and Dad still heading toward the door, ends up being too much for Sam.  I sense the releasing of his powers seconds before it happens and manage to throw my hands over my head just in time.

The furniture in the room rattles and shakes for a moment, and then rises off the floor, flying through the air, most headed straight toward Dad.  For a moment, I am terrified that the nightstand will absolutely crush Sam, but thankfully is merely slams into our father's side, knocking him off balance enough that Sammy manages to wriggle from his grasp, dropping onto the bed.  He quickly rolls from the mattress onto the floor, and crawls over to my location on the floor, burrowing half underneath my body.

Once he is clear, the furniture seems to turn more violent in its movements, and rises up together to assault our father, until a particularly well placed attacked from a floor lamp cracks the back of his head and he goes down, knocked unconscious.  When he falls, the rest of the furniture immediately clatters to the ground with him.  In a moment, it is as if the objects were never moving on their own.

The only sound for a moment is the harsh, panted breaths of Sam, myself and Pastor Jim.  Then, in perfect unison, Sammy is scrabbling at me as I turn to scoop him into my arms, clutching and grabbing until he is in my lap facing me, locked chest to chest, his arms and legs wrapped, twined tight around my waist and neck, respectively.  His forehead slams to my collarbone, then shifts and it is his lips, as always, pressed to the crook of my neck, speaking directly into my skin.

The words are a jumble of worry and desperation and apology, murmured half through lips and half through the bond, tripping from Sammy into me, “Oh God!  Dean!  I can’t... I didn’t know what to do!  I’m sorry!  I know you wanted me to stay out of it, but I couldn’t anymore... he was going to take me away... how could he think you are evil?!  I am so sorry!  I didn’t know what to do... and then he pushed you and I couldn’t stop it!  I couldn’t hold back... I couldn’t let him take me away!  We just promised, together forever and I... and now he... I’m sorry, Dean!  I’m so sorry!  What are we going to do?

“And, oh... now he knows!  Now he knows, not just about the bond but about the powers as well!  He is going to think we’re both evil!  I know he’s our Dad but I can’t let him hurt you, Dean!  And I can’t let him separate us!  I won’t survive it... I won’t, I won’t, I WON’T!!”  The fallen furniture is beginning to tremble again, with his last outburst of feeling.

I pull Sammy tighter, and began rocking us both, both for his comfort as for my own.  “Shh, my Sammy.  I know.  I know and it’s okay.  I’m not going anywhere without you.  Never separate again.  I promised and you know I keep my promises.  No worries.”  I move my right hand to bury it in the soft mop of hair and press his lips harder against my neck, an instant calming trigger to Sammy. 

Once the audible rattling of the contents of the room ceases, I press my cheek to his head and close my eyes.  I have my Sam and we are safe... for now.  But now what?  What are we supposed to do?  Our father won’t stay unconscious forever.  That is, if he is simply unconscious, and not completely knocked dead. 

The last thought hits me in the gut, and my eyes fly open and swing to the prone form of our father, laying sprawled on the floor, surrounded by downed furniture.  Pastor Jim (and I had forgotten his presence in all the commotion) is kneeling by Dad, checking his pulse.  My eyes focus on his chest and… there.  Yes, his chest is rising and falling steadily; he is still breathing.  That is good enough for me.

I close my eyes once again, and go back to just breathing in the scent of Sammy - full of warm boy and perfection, home and everything good and perfect in this world.  I knew I may have to “fight” with our father to protect Sam and our bond; I just didn’t think it would be so soon, or this violent.  And I never imagined Dad would believe that I was evil and not me.  God dammit!  What are Sam and I going to do?

I jump when I feel a hand gently touch my shoulder.  Sammy and I both shoot our heads up, and are met with the ancient eyes of Pastor Jim.  “You boys need to leave before John wakes up.”

We must both look gob smacked, because Pastor Jim gives an almost involuntary-looking little grin as he takes in our expressions.  Jim shifts his attention to me, and I am reminded of our first meeting, long ago, when he looked at me like this; as if I was the answer to some prayer he didn’t even know he was praying for.  “Dean, you are not evil.  If anything, you are the very opposite.  Heaven has a special purpose for you, and don’t let anyone ever convince you otherwise.  I know the Lord gave you the responsibility of watching out for Sammy, and his genius is proven time and again.  You are the perfect guardian for him.  

“Your Dad told me what you did today, and how you worked to find your brother through your special connection.  That has to be one of His blessings; a way to help you keep Sammy from the clutches of hell.  I am sorry your father doesn’t see it that way.  But because of that, you need to be far away from here before he is conscious enough to follow.  I will delay him as long as I can, but I can only do so much.  Grab your things, take the Impala, and go.”

I am stunned.  I knew that Pastor Jim didn’t think I was evil, but for him to think so highly of me, and to help us escape.  I am floored.  Because I can never just accept something good, the word slips out before I can reel it back in.  “Why?”

“Because, Dean... I swore an oath, to myself and to God, a long time ago, that I would do everything I could to protect you, and in turn help you protect Sam.  I can do nothing less than make sure you are both safe.”

Before I can even find the words, Sammy is leaping from my arms, and wrapping them around Pastor Jim’s neck.  “Thank you, Pastor JIm.  Thank you for understanding,” Sam whispers fervently.  Jim hugs Sam back, and then stands and places Sammy on his feet as I climb to my own.  Pastor Jim goes to hold out his hand to me, but that is not enough, not for everything that he has done for us.  I throw my arms around him, as enthusiastically as Sam, and hug him briefly but wholeheartedly.

Jim hugs me back as well, and then ushers us both toward our duffle bags.  “Quickly, boys.  Grab your things, and head out in out the Impala.  May God bless you and keep you in the palm of His hand.”

I nod decisively, and sling my bag over my shoulder, watching Sam do the same.  Jim kneels next to our father, and digs the keys to the car out of his pocket, handing them up to me.  We lock eyes once more as I take the keys to our literal freedom and salvation.  I try to express with that look alone how much this means to me, and to Sammy.  Pastor Jim gives a small smile and a nod.  Message received and understood.

I take Sammy’s hand, and together we hurry down the stairs, out the front door, and immediately to the Impala.  I may only be fifteen, but I’ve been driving the girl since I was Sammy’s age, and I have a fantastic fake license naming me 18 and legal.  Thankfully, the law should be the least of our problems.

We stash our duffle bags in the trunk, and climb into the front seat, my Sammy sitting shotgun next to me.  Somehow, though we have never done this, it feels more right and natural than us sitting in the backseat.  It is as if we were always heading in the direction, just Sammy and me and the Impala, the open road and our bond, perfection at its finest.

Even after everything that just went down, I can feel the thin thread of excitement zipping from Sammy across the bond, and my own leaps to meet it.  Sam looks at me, and grins.  “Where are we going, Dean?”

“Wherever we want, Sammy,” I say, as I turn the key in the ignition.  The old girl growls to life, and the purr of her engine sends a thrill through us both.  I grin myself, and take her out onto the open road, temporarily leaving our troubles behind.


	14. Chapter Eleven

** Chapter 11 **

**_Sam POV_ **

An hour down the highway, flying away from Pastor Jim’s rectory, our father, and pretty much everything I thought I knew about life and family, and that excited little trill inside me has morphed to near-paralyzing anxiety.  What the hell are we supposed to do, anyway?

I can feel the exhaustion attempting to drag me down into oblivion, but I won’t let it.  Not right now.  I can feel Dean murmuring lullabies through the bond, attempting to let me get some rest, and that is not really helping - but I am resolved.  I cannot sleep until we figure some things out.

Dean flashes an image of a two-year-old throwing a tantrum, “I’m not tired!” and all.  I turn and glare at him, annoyed.  It’s not that, and he knows it.  I am tired.  I acknowledge that.  It’s just...

“It’s just what, Sammy?  What has you resisting sleep so desperately?  It has been an epicly long day; you need to sleep sometime.”

I am full to overflowing with a jumble of confusing thoughts and feelings, I don’t think I could even puzzle them out enough to send anything coherent through the bond, let alone put it all into words. 

In the span of one twenty-four hour period, I was captured and tortured by a demon; I found out that my powers were given to me by the demon who killed my Mom, who died attempting to keep the demon away from me and oh, by the way, I am supposed to use these power to lead an army of demons; and then, when Dean, the only person who I truly love and trust, tries to protect me and pull me out of my dark, terrified thoughts, my Dad decides that he is evil and attempts to drag us apart and sever our connection, the one good, fantastic, constant thing in my life.  And what do I do in retaliation?  I use my demon powers, knock my father unconscious, and run away with my soul bonded brother by stealing our Dad’s favorite vehicle. 

On top of everything, in the midst of explaining to each other why we need our bond, and how much we love one another, we happened to make out a bit.  Full out French kissing with my big brother.  Yeah, no big deal.  Just try to get some sleep.  Part of me wants to thump my head against the dashboard and scream.

In the middle of my mini-crisis, Dean reaches out his right hand, and places it over my knee.  Apparently, even though my emotions are a jumble, Dean, in his usual amazing way, has managed to puzzle out some of it, and pick apart the rest, and understands what is keeping me awake and in panic mode.  A knot that had been twisted and tied up inside me loosens, and it feels like I can take a deep breath again.

Dean can always do that to me.  Take this anxiety-ridden panicked jumble of thoughts and emotions, break it apart, and just know that all I needed was to be understood, and given a calming touch, a soft whisper through the bond and the promise of a talk later, and I will be perfectly fine.  Part of it is because it is just Dean; sometimes I think he would have been able to do that for me, even if we weren’t connected like we are.  But with the bond, it is infinitely better.  Even when I was captured by a demon, Dean could be there to calm me down, and get me through the rough parts.

How can this be anything but good and love?  Obviously, it isn’t evil.  Otherwise, the demon that held me wouldn’t have attempted to convince me to give it up.  I think it helps me fight off whatever that demon did to me as a baby, when he gave me powers and killed Mom.  And Dean has told me, before, that we have been connected since I was born.  He speculates that the beginnings of it may have occurred even before that, because he insists he could feel flutters from me when I was still in Mom’s womb. 

Pastor Jim told us, tonight, that he believes this bond is heaven blessed.  I look at Dean out of the corner of my eye.  Honestly, that would make the most sense.  Dean is my guardian angel, in the all the ways that count.  He insists that it is the angels and Mom who watch over us, each and every day, but really, it is Dean.  Day in and day out, he is the one who keeps me safe, and watches out for me.  He is the one, not Dad, who has managed to raise me for the last ten years of our lives.  He is my angel.  It would make sense that if the angels thought I may be a target, and if Mom knew that the demon was after me, that all of hell was going to be after me, that they would give me my own personal angel to protect me all the time.  And what better way to do that than to give me Dean, and then bind our souls together?

I feel the blush bubbling up within Dean at my thoughts, and notice the stain of red along his neck and ears and cheeks, even in the dark interior of the Impala.  “Geez, Sammy.  Definitely not an angel here.”  His emotions turn darker, away from pleased and embarrassed, and I catch the thought, the addendum that he won’t speak aloud - _Angels don’t kiss their little brothers._

The maelstrom of guilt and shame, conflicting with the impulses of right and natural progression and love and perfection, rolling in from Dean is nearly overwhelming.  How can he be filled this this much doubt? 

I need to make this better, so both Dean and I can breathe through the raging emotions threatening to drown us, suddenly.  _Dean, it would be strange and wrong to most people, but so is what we do.  So is the bond.  So maybe... maybe it can be one of those things that is only right for us?_

“Sammy, I...”  Dean’s words drift off, and he squeezes my knee, ending the conversation for now.  Blessedly, the emotions have settled a bit as well.  Just as he is able to calm my anxiety, I seem to be able to say the right thing to distract him long enough that we can both make sense of the emotions turning inside us and breathe for a bit.

I make a decision.  We need to talk, and we both definitely need to get some sleep, before we both drift off and crash the Impala.  We are probably far enough away that Dad won’t think to look for us.  “Why don’t we stop and get a motel room for the night?  You have one of the credit cards, right?  We can rest, and figure out a plan, and start fresh in the morning.  What do you say?”

Dean smiles, and I feel a burst of agreement through the bond as he give my knee a gentle squeeze.  Less than ten minutes later, we are pulling up to your typical shady, just-off-the-highway motel, vacancy light flickering red through the windows of the Impala.  We stop in front of the office, and Dean hops out with a burst of _Stay_ through the bond.  I understand.  Even though motels like this tend to run a “don’t ask, I saw nothing” policy, two young boys on their own is going to look suspicious.  Dean, on his own, can give a grin and a wink, and whoever is behind the counter will assume he’s some teenager, looking to have a night alone with his high school sweetheart.

He returns a few minutes later with a key for a room in back, on the ground floor.  Winchesters never take a second floor room; we like to be able to retreat at a moment’s notice.  I am glad to see that even though it is just us, now, things won’t be changing too much.  Dean tucks the Impala between two pickup trucks, a couple doors down from our room.  In her new location, she is hidden from most passerby, and can’t be seen from the road that leads to the highway.  Even if Dad happens to head this way, he won’t spot her outright.

I help Dean grab our things, and head into the motel.  Even though I know the typical cover story of a night with his sweetheart, I am still surprised to see just the one king bed.  We never have that luxury.  Even if it is usually just Dean and I in a room, we always get two beds in case Dad does actually show up. 

We never sleep separate, however.  Dad stopped trying to make that happen ages ago.  After the fire, Dean insists that neither of us would sleep unless we could reach out and touch one another.  Dad got sick of waking up and finding Dean sleeping in my crib, or worse, sitting on the floor, leaning against the crib, neck cocked at a terrible angle, asleep with his hand through the bars and mine right on top of his.  Dean insists Dad was afraid for both our safety and well-being, and just gave up, letting us share a bed.

He tried again, when Dean turned thirteen, saying that since Dean was now a teenager, it was time to get over having to sleep in the same bed as his brother.  For three nights, Dad paid extra for a cot, and insisted that I would sleep on that and Dean in the bed.  And every night, the minute Dad drifted off, I was crawling into bed to wrap myself up in Dean’s arms so we could both sleep. 

Dad, once again, threw up his hands in defeat.  We didn’t really have the extra money to pay for a cot anyway.  Besides, I think Dad only did that because people were giving him and us odd looks.  If it weren’t for other peoples’ perceptions of us, I don’t think Dad would have surfaced from his fog of grief and desperate need to defeat evil to even notice.  If he had, I think he would have figured out about the bond way before today.

Dean and I, we try to act normal enough, but it is nearly impossible.  Our lives have never really been normal; what do we have to compare them to that we would know how to fool others all the time? 

I know how we must look to the outside viewer looking in.  There are days when we walk home from school, hands weaved together in a basket between us, swinging carefree back and forth.  I am telling Dean all about my day, with the corresponding hand gestures and facial expressions, but it’s a crapshoot if I am actually remembering to speak vocally or through the bond.  Dean is usually better at responding to me with his voice, aloud, where others can hear, but that probably makes it even worse.  He doesn’t remember to remind me to speak, and then Dean just looks like he is having a one-sided conversation. 

But, when you have always lived with your brother in your heart and mind and soul, how do you pretend to the world, day after day, that you are like typical siblings, who always seem to fight and snipe at one another, full of hate and disdain?

I’m not saying that Dean and I never argue.  But always, underneath it all, is nothing but safety and security and love.  It may not be normal, but isn’t it so much better than that?

Once Dean closes the door, and pours down a line of salt, I let my excitement overtake me and make a running leap for the bed, bouncing on it a few times after I land.  I turn to grin at him, and notice something even better than just a plain king bed.  This king bed has “Magic Fingers” attached to it.

“Dean!” I shout, aloud and through the bond, gaining his attention from where is his working to unpack the essentials from our bags for the night.  I point to the innocuous metal machine.  Dean bursts out laughing, and it is the best thing I have heard all day.

He abandons the duffle bags, and digs in his jeans pocket, pulling out a quarter.  Then, copying my earlier move, he too makes a running leap onto the bed, landing on his back next to me, bouncing a bit before settling.  I hold out my hand, palm up, for the quarter and Dean smiles and places it into my palm.

I crawl over to the machine, and drop in the coin, enjoying the immediate tingles I feel rattling through my knees as I move away back toward Dean.  He has settled himself with his hands weaved in a basket behind his head, and is smiling up at me, that special, crooked half-smile that I seem to be the only recipient of.  Dean jerks his head at me and sends _C'mere._

I flop down next to him, and settle into my second favorite place, my head pillowed on Dean’s chest, high enough that my forehead presses against his jaw, and wrap my arm across his middle.  Dean moves his arms to hold me in place, and I let my eyes drift closed, just for a moment.

I enjoy the vibrations through the bed, not even realizing when the soft warmth and safety of Dean’s embrace paired with the gentle movements of the bed lulls me into a much needed sleep.


	15. Chapter Twelve

** Chapter 12 **

**_Dean POV_ **

I look down at Sammy, finally asleep in my arms.  This bond has been with us so long, it is no problem for me to let my mind wander while my hand continues to stroke gentle patterns on Sam’s lower back, sending him the calmest, most soothing strains of lullabies I can manage tinkling through the bond.

The strangest lullaby, the one I always seem to fall back on, and the one that calms Sammy the most, is actually a song from the musical _Godspell_.  I didn’t realize that is what it was for quite a long time.  It was always my favorite song that Mom sang to us, and it always seemed appropriate.  When we lost Mom, it was the only one I could circle back to and recall perfectly in her soft, quiet voice.  The haunting truth of it seems to follow me down to my core.  I would sing it to Sammy, right after Mommy died, and both of our eyes would fill with tears, even as we drifted off to sleep to the strains of it.

“ _Where are you going?  Where are you going? Can you take me with you?  For my hand is cold and needs warmth... where are you going_?” 

The later part of it is always what would calm Sammy the most, assuring him that we were together and safe, forever and ever.  “ _Finally glad, that you are here, by my side_.”  The gentle, soft repetition of “ _By my side_ ” would, and still does, keep Sammy lulls and safe in the strains of dreamless, uninterrupted sleep.

With everything that has happen to him today, he needs to sleep before he snaps.  Before I snap, honestly. 

I know, I need sleep just as much as he does, but I can’t make my brain stop tripping and looping back on all the shit that has happened to us in such a short time.  Everything is careening out of control, and I need to keep it together for Sammy.  That is my job and my role; I need to be strong so Sam can be strong right beside me.  If I break, he will, and it will spiral out and away from us, and his powers will unleash and absolute chaos will ensue.

I hate to admit it, but he is right.  Demonic or not, we need to find some way for Sammy to learn about these powers, and figure out how to use them.  Simply attempting to suppress them has not been working out so great, lately.  The more he attempts to tamp them down, the more they want to spiral out of control when his emotions get too big for him to contain.  Also, they seem to get stronger the older he gets.  It started with just all the windows in school when he was five.  The last time, on the day some bullies attempted to jump him behind the gym at our last school, the shock wave traveled through the whole damn block.

They still scare the shit out of me, and now I know, it was with good reason.  I knew his powers felt wrong.  They weren’t the good, for lack of a better descriptor, feeling I sense radiating from our bond.  But since it’s Sammy, and he can’t ever be full of evil, they don’t feel dark or corrupted.  I think they were supposed to be, but being placed in a boy like Sam, look away all of their natural, hellish taint, and just made them part of Sam and who he is.  They are his, now, to do with as he pleases.  What better way to fight off hell than with some of their own power?  Even I can find the irony in that.

So, finding a way to get Sammy trained up is the next logical step.  I immediately think of the only other person with powers that I know of - Missouri.  She may be able to help Sam; help us, really.  She has before.  If she cannot actually train Sammy, then maybe she can point him to someone who will be able to help us.  Knowing her, she already has sensed what is happening and is figuring out how to best help us right now.

I am mentally sent back to mine and Sammy’s first meeting with her, and how she knew exactly what we were and how to help us to make our lives better.  The fact that it was Dad who initiated that meeting is still strange to me.  He must have been really worried to bring us to someone with those kinds of powers.  Then again, Dad has never seemed to be wary of Missouri like he is of others like her.  Surprisingly, she is the only individual with any supernatural powers that Dad ever seemed to trust.

Thoughts of Dad bring me back to what brings us here, to this motel, in the first place.  I feel the prick of tears in the back of my eyes, and blink rapidly in an attempt to stave them off.  How could he think that of me?  How could he ever think that I could be evil?  That I would EVER let something evil touch Sammy.  I would throw myself off a cliff, first.  And with the bond, Sam would know the minute something even tried to burrow inside me.  Then again, how would Dad know or understand that?  He thinks that the bond is all a part of the evil that is attempting to tear apart his family.

I always knew that Dad was paranoid (and in our line of work, he has every right to be.  He needs to be, I get that.).  But this... this is beyond thought; this is beyond everything I even believed. I knew that I would have to fight with my father when he had discovered the bond.  I didn’t realize it would be a literal _fight_. 

Not that I did most of the fighting.  Or any of it, really.  In the end, I couldn’t even conceive of lifting a hand against my father, no matter what nonsense he was spewing.  Instead, I let Sam do that for me, with his powers no less.  What kind of big brother, protector, am I that I let Sammy fight my battles for me? 

I know, he would argue that it was our battle, and he would be right.  But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to shield him from all the crap that is out there in the world, even if it is right in our own family.  And doesn’t that happen to us all the time; the evil being right up and in the face of us Winchesters.  I let my brother fight my own battles.  I can’t protect him from evil, from demons, from our father’s well-meaning intentions.  I can’t protect him from my own well-meaning intentions.

I have been avoiding it, even mentally, but I can’t keep skirting around it forever, even in my own thoughts.  I can’t keep him safe from me, because I kissed my own little brother.  Not just a peck; I molested his lips, biting and nipping and claiming them, like I have some right to do that, to force myself on my Sammy, on my little brother like that.

And I know, I feel the inevitability of it, the fact that we have been careening towards this destination since his damn conception (and isn't that all sorts of creepy and fucked up?).  But it doesn't change the fact that I never should have done it.  That I never should have taken it that far.  And I certainly shouldn't be thinking about when I can do it again.  I shouldn’t be obsessing over how amazing, how perfectly he tasted.  How perfect it felt.  How perfect and amazing it was, it is, it will be when it happens again.

Jesus Christ!  It is my job to be strong and protect Sammy from all the bad things out there.  I just never thought that one of those bad things would end up being me.  It is me.  I am horrible, and I shouldn’t be here with him, holding him and loving him and … and...

I bury my face in his mop of unruly hair, and finally let a tear fall.  This is it.  This is us.  This is all Sammy has right now - this flawed person, this terrible big brother.  And no matter how terrible I feel about myself or what I have done... no matter how much I know I should be the one protecting Sammy... I can’t let him go. 

I won’t let him go.  Ever.  Even if that makes me the most selfish person on this planet.  Even if it is going to send me to hell.  I cannot be without him.  And, as he has expressed to me, he cannot be without me.  We don’t know how to function separately.  Did I really, ever see this going any other way?

Looking back, I realize that Sammy is the reason I could never look at any other girls, no matter how much they flirt with me, or how pretty they looked.  In the end, it was always going to be Sammy.  My whole life has centered on this one, precious, perfect person sleeping trustingly in my arms.  Why would I ever want anyone else?

And, really, how was us being with anyone else ever going to work?  “Oh, yeah, honey, by the way - I am soul-bonded and telepathically and empathically connected with my little brother.  He is probably feeling us fooling around right now.  Don’t mind that.  Also, I can’t remember how to sleep without touching him, he’ll be joining us in bed when we’re done.”  Yeah.  That sounds plausible.

“ _By my side_ ” circles around in the endless loop of the lullaby I am whispering to Sammy through the bond, and it sings through my being, lightening my soul when his sleep-addled “voice” picks of the melody and repeats it back through the bond, echoing the repetition of it through the end of the lullaby. 

I pull his body ever closer, and make the decision that will forever change this for us.  Or, perhaps, the only decision I could make, the only right one to make.  We already are everything to and for each other; how will this change that at all?  How could we have done anything less than grow to manifest that love into anything less than a physical component?

I let myself replay that moment when our lips met without the shadow of my guilt and shame, and examine it.  I pull it apart, and look at the feelings from the act, and the ones filling the bond, then and now.  It wasn’t anything unnatural, any more than the bond is unnatural.  To us, it feels normal.  That kiss felt perfectly normal, just like laying here, holding Sammy and “singing” him lullabies has always felt right and good and perfect.  It makes us whole.  This is the next step to make us whole.

Too much evil tries to touch and hurt us.  Why should I be the catalyst to more angst and hurt, for both of us?  This is how our lives are going to progress.

Sammy is young, and no matter how much he has had to grow and mature faster than anyone, he is still an eleven year old child.  I swear to myself, that I will not rush or push, and I will work desperately to keep this progression for us slow.

But I will never push him away.  I will let Sammy set the pace for this exploration into our connection.  I will let his emotions and thoughts, and the bond, be our guide.  If it feels right and good, then I will not let it be evil and wrong.  It will be like the bond.  We will hide it from those who would not understand, and relish in our connection, and everything we can be for one another. 

If this is forever and ever, together for always - than that, too, will be forever and ever, together in all ways, for always.  Until the end of time and beyond, on earth and heaven, and if we end up there, even hell, it will be us against the world. 

Finally, with this decision made, I can feel my mind settling and sleep attempting to pull me under to join Sammy in some much need rest.  I set the alarm on the nightstand for 6am, and switch off the lamp.

We will get up in the morning, and discuss our plan.  Then, we can call Missouri, and see if she has a suggestion for where we can go to help Sammy with his powers.  But for now, I turn to settle myself down under the covers, and pull Sammy as close to me as I can get him.  It is finally time to sleep.

****

**_Sam POV_ **

I can hear sobbing.  At first, I think it is my own, but I reach up and there are no tears on my face.  I feel sad, though.  So absolutely, soul-crushingly sad and I don’t remember why.  I don’t even remember how I got here, or where here is.  But I am sad, and someone else, nearby, is sad as well.  I can hear crying.  I start walking.

I feel as if I walk forever, but I continue to follow the sounds, until I finally see someone, curled up on the ground.  His hair is spiky and a dirty blond, and he is crying as if his very heart is breaking, is broken, and he can’t help it.  He doesn’t seem able to stop, or unaware that there is anyone nearby.  I think I hear the whisper of words interspersed with the sounds of despair.  I walk another couple steps closer, and listen.  It is a word.  One word: Sammy.” 

I realize the boy is Dean, and he is crying for me.  I run forward, and put my hand on his shoulder, to show him that I am here and he can stop crying. 

He jumps up at the touch, and uncurls from his fetal position.  I leap backward and cover my mouth in horror.  His chest is open in a giant, gaping wound, spreading and bleeding everywhere.  Dean looks up at me, destroyed, and says, “I can’t feel you, Sammy.”

My hands drop from my mouth to cover my heart, where I know I the tether should be.  I feel a dampness and look down.  My chest is opening in a corresponding wound, the blood creeping out from the hole in my chest and staining the white of my t-shirt.  I look back up at Dean, and see him reaching for me, in desperation.  “Why, Sammy?  Why can’t I feel you?  Why?!”

I fall to my knees, cover my face with my bloody hands, and scream.

I shoot my eyes open, and Dean is hovering over me, hand on my chest, holding me in place while I attempt to toss and turn and thrash.  It feels as if my spirit slams back into my body.  I am in the motel room with Dean, curled up in the Magic Fingers-equipped bed.  Safe.  And most importantly, connected.  I reach for the tether with hand and mind and heart, finally taking a relieved breath when I can feel it extending from me, and feel the responding connection to my brother.

Dean lifts his hand from my chest, and I dive at him, holding him to me, and breathing in his scent.  I press my face into his neck, and place a soft kiss to his neck.  “Never, Dean.  I promise.  You will be able to feel me forever.”

Dean wraps his arms around me in response, and nods.  I can feel confusion through the bond, but also relief and certainty and love.  “Okay, Sammy.  Okay.  Good.  I like the sound of forever when you’re talking about you and me.”

I realize, suddenly, that I had kissed his neck, and Dean didn’t seem to react negatively toward it.  Maybe he didn’t notice it?  I try it again, this time sending a little flitter of questions, like the beating of butterfly wings, down the bond.  I press my lips to the soft skin at his neck, my favorite place to press my face, to feel the safest and most at home as I can, and send a simple _Is this okay?_

The answering _Yes, Sammy.  We’ll take it slow; but how could it really be anything but yes?_ makes my heart want to fly.  I am soaring; I am free; I am loved and in love.  Dean isn’t feeling anything sad or angry or upset inside.  There is no great loathing of himself, or need to fight against what he thinks and what he feels.  Apparently, while I was sleeping, he managed to figure some things out for himself.  If anything, I feel a little flutter of excitement from him.

Aloud, Dean clarifies.  “Seriously, Sammy - slow.  Last I checked, you were eleven, huh?  We may speak of forever, and I know we are both committed to it, but that doesn’t mean we need to go headlong rushing into anything and everything.  We have all of time to get there and figure it all out.  We’re just going to do what comes naturally, and let things progress as they feel right.  Just like we have always approached the bond, okay?  Promise me, Sammy.”

I nod enthusiastically.  “I promise, Dean.  Slow as molasses!”  I cross my heart, just to be facetious. 

Dean attempts to stifle the grin, but it shines through the bond regardless.  “Bitch,” he says, and shoves me lightly on the shoulder.

I just grin back, and call him, “Jerk!” 

Only we could insult one another and make it still sound like love underneath.  Or maybe that is just how I always hear words from Dean.  Anything he says to me is always laced with the emotions he feels beneath and around and through the words. 

“So, Sammy, should I ask about this dream?”

I look up into Dean’s concerned eyes, and get a flash of his dream-self, clutching his chest and sobbing helplessly, hurt because we weren’t connected.  I shudder.  “No.  That’s okay.  I think I got the message from the dream loud and clear.  We’re good.”

Dean’s own eyes bore into my own, and I can feel him reaching inside me, feeling around for any negative emotions that may still be lingering.  Apparently finding none, he give a nods.  “Okay, then.”

Dean glances over to the clock.  The numbers read about five minutes to six.  He reaches out and flips the switch on top, shutting off the potential alarm.  “Well, I guess it’s time for us to wake up, anyway.  We need to figure out where we are going.  Well, the other part of the discussion was supposed to be about our kiss, but I seem to be getting your opinion on the matter.”

I immediately reach inside Dean, looking for those earlier, self-loathing, bruise-purple emotions of doubt and hatred directed at himself.  When the most negative emotion I find is a bit of resignation, that _we will always be different, and can that really be such a bad thing?_ I pull back, and look into Dean’s eyes.  “I just... I don’t want to feel those awful things you try to hide from me.”

Dean opens his mouth, to contradict or correct me, but I cut him off.  “No, Dean.  I know you, inside and out, remember?  You feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, sometimes, and I know I don’t always help with that.  I am a lot to take care of.  A lot more than we originally thought, apparently.  It is a lot to handle and a lot to shoulder, all the time.  I just don’t want you to do this for me alone.  I don’t want you to agree to this if it is something that will make you hate yourself down the road.  Inside, I want you to be happy, Dean.  That is all I’ve ever really wanted.

“So, if this is going to be okay now, and down the road, you will believe that this is a bad idea and you are corrupting me, it will destroy you inside.  I know it will.  And I will be destroyed inside, too.  So think about this, Dean. 

“I know, I want us to head in this direction.  I didn't know that before today, seriously, it never really crossed my mind.  But how could we ever really be anything else but exactly what we both need, in all ways, right?  And when we kissed, it felt so... right, you know?  Like it does when I feel something from you through the bond, and you don’t even know what the emotion is, but I manage to figure it out and make it better, right?  It was like that, but better.  Easier, almost.  Like this physical component could unlock even more.  Like the way our connection is stronger if we touch, skin to skin.  Lips to lips seemed even easier to send and received information and images and feelings.  Oh, Dean, I think it is right.  I think it is perfect.  I do.

“But only, and as always, if it won’t hurt you.  I never, ever want to hurt you, Dean.  Please, tell me what you are feeling.  Are you really okay with this?  Or are you just agreeing because you think it is what I want?”

“I will admit, I was, for lack of a better phrase, freaking out a bit about this.  I am your big brother, your protector.  I want to keep you safe, always.  A good chunk of this feels like I am walking your down this path of corruption, introducing you to things that are perverse and wrong, way too early and that are taboo in pretty much every society.

“Don’t just shake your head at me, Sammy.  Listen to what I have to say.  That is exactly what people will say if they find out.  That we are wrong, that I corrupted you, and they will pull us apart.  This, if we do this, will be another one of our grand secrets.

“Of course, how is that really any different from how we live everything in our lives?  To everyone else, who we are, what we do, it is all taboo and secret.  We are good at playing make believe in the presence of others.  That doesn’t really concern me.  It is just something we both need to be constantly aware of.

I nod in agreement, but keep my mouth closed.  Just because Dean paused, does not mean he is done speaking.  He likes to pull the words from the ether and arrange them into the right order before he speaks to me, especially about something this important.  I am the one who babbles to him the first things that flit through my brain.  I wait him out.

Long moments later, Dean takes a deep breath and speaks.  “Because of this bond, I can feel what others would never be able to see or comprehend.  Kissing you, Sammy... it was as perfect as the day you were born, and Mom placed you in my arms.  I felt that same sense of the world focusing, narrowing to one perfect little pinprick of light and sound and perfection - and the focus was on you.  I knew, then, that you were for me, and I was for you.

“I felt that, again, when we kissed.  You are for me and I am for you.  This is just that next level, which we were both too young to be ready for until now.  This is the next step.

“And it scares me, Sammy.  I am so afraid, now, for what this will mean.  That we will have yet another thing to hide.  That I won’t be good enough for you, for what you need.  But that is what this is for me... it is a need.  I need you, Sammy.  And I can feel that it is something you need as well.

“So we will let it progress, just like the bond did.  We will do what feels natural and right, not to anyone else, but to us.  We will take it slow, or jump fast sometimes, but always following our hearts.  Always connected, Sammy, no matter what. 

“We have forever.  Let’s see where that can take us, huh?”

I can feel my eyes tearing up, and see the glistening reflected in Dean’s as well.  I am filled to brimming with the love and acceptance that I feel from knowing Dean is mine, and that I am his.  In every way that counts.  Forever.  I shift up on my knees, reach out, and place my hands on cheeks, pulling his face down to mine and pressing my lips to his.

It isn’t like last time, where it was a fury, a thunderstorm of kissing and devouring.  This time, the feelings seem to bubble up from inside me, tickling and sparkly - little floaty soap bubbles ready to pop in love and joy.  It is mostly chaste, but strong and heartfelt, even if it is a bit clumsy and inept. 

Dean catches that thought from me, and sends back a light _Then I guess we will just have to practice_ that sets my heart singing.  I pull back, and smile at him, brightly.  I promised to take things slow.  Kissing him felt right at that moment.  But now, we need to focus on other issues.

Dean catches my shift of focus, and switches gears as well.  He unhooks my arms from around him, and hold my hands in his, looking deep into my eyes.  I can feel him searching for something, though even through the bond I can’t figure out quite what he is looking for. 

“Sammy, how do you feel about your powers?  We never really talk about them, which has been a mistake on my part.  In the past, they have kind of freaked me out, and so I have had us ignore them.  That can’t be our plan, anymore.”

I nod in agreement.  These powers of mine are overwhelming.  Rather than explore them, and feeling Dean’s own unease and confusion on what they are, we have both just played the ignorance is bliss card.  However, as of right now, I am determined to figure out how these powers work and what to do with them.  Dad always says that we need to use everything at our disposal to fight evil and keep good people safe.  These powers, demon gifted or not, are at my disposal.  I will need them to fight against demons, and to keep both myself and Dean safe.

“I know, Dean.  I want to get them under control and hone them so they can be useful to us.  But where can I find someone to help us?”

Dean smiles, and I know that he has this figured out as well.  He apparently did a lot of thinking and planning while I slept.  “Do you remember Missouri?” 

I think back.  “Missouri?  When were we there?”

Dean laughs, and I glare at him.  “Well, excuse me that we move around so much I can’t remember every place that we’ve ever lived!”

Dean settles down, and squeezes my hands.  “Oh, Sammy, I didn’t mean to laugh.  Sorry.  Missouri is a person.  She is a psychic with some powers, mostly insight and vision, from what I have witness and Dad has told me.  She met us, once, and immediately saw our bond.  She was the one who told me that it was good, and to treasure it, but to keep it hidden from Dad because he wouldn’t understand.  And damn, was she right on that account, huh?”

I get a flash from deep in my memories, of a large woman with deep, kind eyes.  I nod, excited.  “So, if she has these powers, do you think she could help us?  Do you think she could help to train me?  Is she going to be my Yoda?!” 

Dean rolls his eyes, but I can feel the bubbling giggles through the silver tether, ticking into my own belly.  “Yeah, sure.  Maybe she’ll be your Yoda, Luke.  But first, I think we need to call her and see what she thinks.  If she can’t help us, perhaps she knows who can.”

Dean climbs off the bed, and crosses the room to his duffle, and begins emptying its contents onto the floor.  At the bottom, he pulls at the loose lining, and I see where he has cut a slit.  His fingers reach in and he digs around until he pulls out a small slip of paper.  As he unfolds it, I see numbers written on it in what looks like Dean’s handwriting when he was young.  This must be very old.

He looks up at me and hold up the paper.  “Missouri gave me her number years ago, and said that if I ever needed to contact her, I should call.  I would know when was right.  Well, this seems like the right time, yes?” 

He returns to the bed, plopping down next to me, and turns toward the phone on the bedside table.  He lifts it off the table, and places the base on the bed, between us.  He pulls the receiver off the cradle, and I hear the dial tone call out through the room, loud even without it pressed to my ear.  Dean meets my eyes one last time, then dials the number, and lifts the phone to his ear.  I lean forward, putting my ear near the other side of the receiver, hoping to catch as much of the conversation as I can with my own ears.  Dean rolls his eyes, and presses his free hand to my bare arm, and throws the connection open wide.  He plans to relay everything right through the bond.  I smile and lean back as I hear the first ring begin.

But it never even gets a chance to finish.  The phone is picked up on the other end almost immediately, and a no nonsense voice sounds through the phone.  “It’s about damn time you called me, boy!  In another hour, I was going to look up the number of that flea trap motel you and your brother are inhabiting and call you myself!”

Dean blinks, obviously startled.  I cover my mouth to stifle my surprised and nervous giggle.  As if she can see me, Missouri shouts, so I can hear her even without the bond connection.  “Don’t you laugh, Samuel Winchester!  That is bordering on sassing both me and your brother.  Apologize!”

Dean and I lock eyes, and he shrugs and sends _She is a force, alright.  I’d do what she says._

“Sorry!” I call toward the phone. 

“Now that’s better.  Okay, boys, let’s get down to business.  Your father finally found out, I take it?”

Dean nods and opens his mouth to respond.  Missouri doesn’t give him a chance, obviously “seeing” the nod or... something.  “I knew it was only a matter of time.  John Winchester is a good man, and a damn fine Hunter, but when he gets something in his brain, it cements into concrete law pretty damn quick.  What you boys have going on is never going to fit into what your Daddy believes is right and normal.  It is a damn shame, but it is what it is.  I’m sorry.”

And I can tell that she really is, even if her tone seems brisk.  There is a general warmth about Missouri that I can sense even over the phone. 

“I also have to ask - Sam, are you alright?  You found out a lot yesterday, and had a bad experience on top of it all.  A few of them.  How are you holding up?”

Dean hands the receiver to me, and I put it to my face.  “I... um... I am okay, I guess.  Dean is with me, so it will be fine.  The demons want me to be some crazy leader of hell.  They are going to keep coming for us, aren’t they?”  I know, we know, they are.  Demons won’t stop.  They just... don’t.  But still, I have a sad, secret hope that Missouri will tell me that this is the last of it, and we will be fine.

“Oh, darling.  I wish that I could tell you that, but you know I can’t.  Which is why I am glad your brother called me.  We need to get you in proper touch with those powers of yours.  And don’t you fret yourself about their origin.  They may have been demon given, but they are yours now, through and through.  Power is never inherently good or evil.  It’s the person, and what they do with that power, that skews it one way or another.  You, Sam, are way too good for those powers to be evil.  Especially not with Dean there, all tied up with you, directing those powers.  Influencing those powers.  And, if we can get you both trained up a bit, accessing those powers if needed.”

I gasp, and look up at Dean’s gob smacked face.  He is reeling with that suggestion.  He plucks the phone from my hand, and is talking before it is even pressed to his face.  “Access Sammy’s powers?  Are you crazy?  How can that work?  I don’t have any powers?!”

“Oh, you don’t, do you?  And how do you think you just miraculously heal Sam’s wounds?  The bond?”

“I don’t... I guess...”

“Dean, that bond is nothing more than a connection between you and your brother.  It opens a channel of sharing.  You choose to share as much or as little as you want.  That means, unconsciously or not, Sam chooses to share his powers with you.  When he is hurt, your need to make him better means you go reaching for anything you can find that will make that happen.  Sam wants to give you what you need, and he lets you access his powers.  Thus, you use them and he is healed.

“If that is just how you boys operate when you are working on instinct alone, can you imagine how strong you will be with some training?”

“So, you'll help us?”

“Oh, Dean.  I don’t have the knowledge to do that.  I can see how it works, but my powers are so different from what Sam has inside him.  But I think I know who can.”

I scoot next to Dean on the bed, and he tilts the receiver away from his ear.  I press my ear close to the phone, so we can both hear Missouri’s words.

“Sam’s powers come from a demon.  While that doesn’t make them evil, it does make them resemble what a demon with abilities can do.  The one person who knows more about demons than your Daddy is Bobby Singer.  He may not have powers himself, but he knows how they work and has research that can help you.

“You know him, and he certainly knows and cares about you both.  His place is as protected from the demons chasing after you as Pastor Jim’s rectory.  Plus, while he cares for you, he has no great love for your Daddy.  If John tries to show up and break you apart, he will stand up for you.  It is the best place I can foresee that will get you prepared for what’s coming.”

Dean nods once, decisively.  It is decided, then.  We will travel to Bobby’s.  I think, subconsciously, we knew that is where we would end up.  That is the direction we started heading from Pastor Jim’s place.  We are really only an hour away. 

“Good.  Now pack up and head out.  Good luck and remember to call me if you need me.”

“Thanks, Missouri,” Dean replies.  I can tell he is relieved to have a plan and a direction, though still a bit shocked by what Missouri told him about using and sharing my powers.  I guess we will both be training at Bobby's. 

“You’re welcome, Dean, Sam.  Be safe.”  The phone cuts off, and Dean hangs up his end, and puts the phone back on the nightstand, before turning back to me. 

“Well, you heard the woman.  Pack up.  We have a snarky salvage yard owner to convince to let us crash at his place while we learn voodoo!”


	16. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is looking to be a busy day for me, so I decided to post Saturday's chapter early. Bonus! Of course, now you must wait until Sunday for another chapter. Enjoy!

** Chapter 13 **

**_Dean POV_ **

I zip up my duffle bag, and stand, doing a visual sweep of the room.  Everything seems to be repacked, and Sammy is waiting for me, sitting on the bed, swinging his legs back and forth.  Ever since getting off the phone with Missouri, he is a bundle of tightly coiled energy.  Now that we have a direction and a plan, he is raring to go.  I can’t really blame him, though.  I am of the same opinion, but probably for a different reason.

I know our father.  A clunk to the head would not keep him out for long.  Pastor Jim will have only delayed him so long, as well.  I just hope Jim didn’t get hurt trying to protect us.  I also have a sinking suspicion that Dad will head this way as well.  We could have left Blue Earth in any multitude of directions, but we took the road west, heading toward Bobby’s.  While we didn’t plan to go there until about fifteen minutes ago, for our Dad, it would have been a logical destination for us.

All of my Hunter senses are going into high alert; we have been here too long.  We need to get moving and to Bobby’s, before our father or, heaven forbid, a demon, decides to show up.

I give Sammy a nod, and he leaps from the bed, grabbing his duffle in one hand, and looping his arm around my waist, grabbing a far belt loop with the other.  My arm naturally falls around his shoulder, and he looks up at me, eyes shining with excitement and adventure.  I can’t help but to pull him a bit tighter against my side and smile back.  This isn’t what I ever had planned for us, but it isn’t bad.  Not even remotely.  I have my Sammy, and that’s really all that matters.

Impulsively, I lean over and place a kiss to the top of Sammy’s head.  He nuzzles my side in return, and starts pulling me toward the door.  I can’t help but get caught up in the waves of nervous, excited energy rippling off Sammy and through the silver tether of the bond.  Our new lives begin today, and they are going to be alright, no matter what.

We open the motel door, and head toward the Impala.  Sammy slips out from under my arm, and reaches for my duffle, dragging them both toward the trunk of the car.  When he puts them on the ground behind the car, I toss him the keys and head toward the office to settle the bill and check out. 

I am reaching for the handle to the door of the motel office when I feel it.  In full Technicolor, an image comes through the bond from Sammy.  Dad, grabbing him from behind, hand clamped painfully tight over his mouth.  Dad, ripping the keys to the Impala from Sam’s hand, and moving to close the trunk and manhandle Sam into the car.  Sam struggling, fighting, freaking out.  _DEAN!!!_

I am running back to the car before I even realize I am moving.  I am pumping my legs faster than I ever thought I could make them go, all the while a chant of _Sam, Sammy, No, no, Dad, NO!_ pushing me faster and faster toward the Impala.  He can’t do this to me; to us.  He cannot take Sammy away from me.  He WILL NOT drive off with him!

I skid to a stop steps away from the Impala, where Sam is still struggling against Dad, who has his back to me, attempting to shove Sam into the open driver’s side door, presumably to push him across the front bench seat and drive away.  Trying to take my heart and soul away, and I won’t have it!

I go to take another step forward, ready to yank Dad away from Sam.  Dad must have been expecting something like that, for he pushes Sam into the car and whips around, pulling a gun and pointing it at me all in one fluid movement.

“Stay back, demon spawn!  I will not let you corrupt my son any further!”  Dad glares at me, his eyes full of hatred and contempt.  I have seen that look in my father’s eyes before, but only ever directed at the awful things that lurk in the night, hurting the innocent and not so innocent alike.  Never, EVER, to be directed at a member of his own family.  Never at me, his own damn son.  Shit!  He really still believes I am evil.

I try, yet again, to reason with him, eyes wary drawn on the gun in his hand.  I put my hands out in front of me, a gesture meant to highlight that I am unarmed, and a plea to hold off.  “Dad, I swear it is me.  Dean.  Your son.  I am not going to hurt you or Sam.  I promise.  But you can’t do this.  You cannot take him away.  It will hurt us both, Dad.”

I watch the moment my Dad snaps.  “Shut up, demon spawn.  You are not my son, and I am most definitely not your father!”

I move to take another step forward, cautiously, but apparently not cautiously enough.  Dad squeezes the trigger and fires.  Pain blossoms across my left shoulder, and I involuntarily slump, right hand flying up to cover the wound.  Shit!  Being shot HURTS.

Wrapped up in our moment, Dad and I, we had forgotten about watching Sam.  I look up, to see if Dad is going to try to shoot me again, and watch as Sammy leaps out of the front seat of the Impala, boot knife in hand, and stabs Dad in the back of the thigh.  Our father’s knee buckles and he stumbles to his knees.

Immediately, Sammy is up and holding the knife to his throat, hand not even wavering, eyes hard and cold.  His voice, when he speaks, could freeze the depths of hell, I am sure of it.  “Put.  The gun.  Down.  Now.” 

Dad starts to say something.  I hear him get out an exasperated, “Sammy...” before Sam cuts him off, pressing the knife close enough to his throat to raise a thin line of blood.  Dad goes silent, eyes staring up at his youngest son, incredulously.

“I said, put the gun down.  And the name is Sam, not Sammy.  I was never your Sammy, and I will never again be your Sammy.”

When Dad still makes no move to release his weapon, Sam shouts.  “I said drop it!” 

This is getting real.  I can hear, in that tone, the toll this is taking on my little brother.  His father just pulled a gun and shot his brother, after trying to kidnap him.  And, even though I am trying like crazy to hold back the pain of this injury from trickling through the bond, we are too connected and wide open.  I can tell that Sammy is feeling a very strong echo of this bullet wound.  Honestly, I think his hand is only that steady from sheer force of will alone.  I would certainly be trembling in his position.

Finally, eyes never leaving Sam, Dad puts his hand close to the ground and releases his hold on the gun.  The second it is out of his hand, I am hurrying to Sammy’s side, kicking the gun out of Dad’s range of motion, before picking it up myself. 

I can hear the sounds of others in the motel moving, trying to see what is going on.  A gunshot did ring out in the parking lot.  Fleabag motel or not, that is not going to go overlooked for long.  I am sure someone has already called the cops.  We need to get out of here, now. 

Sammy is thinking the same thing.  _What now, Dean?_ He sends.  That is what really spurs me into motion.  To let that thought through, Sammy opened the channel between us wider.  He is in absolute emotional turmoil, full of panic and mayhem and so much pain.  Apparently, me trying to hold this back is not helping at all.  We are too attuned for that to be an option. 

I take a breath and make a decision.  _Distract him._ Sam immediately gasps aloud, and turn his head in the direction opposite from where I am standing.  It shouldn’t work, but somehow, I watch my father, Hunter extraordinaire, turn his head and follow the direction Sam is looking.  I use the moment to take two steps and slam the butt of the gun across the back of Dad’s head, effectively pistol whipping my father. 

A giggle at the absurdity of that thought tries to bubble forth, but I squash it quickly.  God dammit, I think I’m going to into shock.  The pain in my arm is nearly overwhelming, and I can feel the blood oozing down my arm under the multiple layers of clothing and my leather jacket.  Fucker shot through my leather jacket.  Jackass.

Thank God for Sammy.  He immediately re-sheaths the boot knife, and kneels down next to our father.  Dad is still in the path of the open driver’s side door.  With strength I didn’t even know Sam possessed, he drags this man I used to call Dad out of the way, and is nearly instantly at my side, checking my arm.  I can see the sweat standing out on his forehead, and I use my uninjured arm to wipe it away.

Sammy nudges my right hand aside, putting his body under my right shoulder as a human crutch.  I wonder why, for a moment, until I feel my legs buckle and my weight drops onto Sammy.  Somehow, he manages to support me and starts limping us toward the open car door.

As we pass our father, I look down at his unconscious form and his bleeding thigh.  “Shouldn’t we do something... like bandage the wound, at least?”

Sam graces me with an incredulous look, and shakes his head once, as he carefully lowers me to the bench seat and motions for me to scoot over.  “We don’t have time.  I know someone called the cops by now.  Besides, fuck that noise.  He shot you!  We are leaving that man right where he is.”

Sammy plucks the gun from my nerveless fingers, and rubs it down on the bottom of his shirt, erasing our fingerprints before he places next to our father’s unconscious form.  “Let the cops sort him out.  Now, seriously, Dean, move over,” Sammy says, as he makes shooing motions at me.

Confused and sluggish, I slide toward the passenger side of the Impala’s front bench seat.

“Sammy, what are you doing?”

The look Sam gives me is priceless, full of exasperation and bitch.  I stifle another giggle.  Yeah, definitely heading toward shock.

Apparently Sammy catches that, because he replies with, “Yeah, shock Dean.  That’s the condition I want you in when you drive.”  He sticks the key in the ignition, turns our baby on, and peels out of the parking space, heading toward the highway that will lead us to Bobby’s.

I try to focus my eyes on Sam, who is sitting on the edge of the bench seat, feat stretched to hit the pedals without having adjusted any of the seat positioning.  Unfortunately, my eyes keep un-focusing, and I involuntarily slump against the door of the passenger’s side, breathing heavily.  Now that the adrenaline has worn off, I am not feeling so great.

Sam keeps glancing over at me, but he keeps his hands on the wheel during the few turns it takes to make it onto the long stretch of highway that will lead to Singer’s Salvage Yard.  Then, he reaches out with his right hand, and places it over the bullet wound.  I can feel a warmth and a tingle through the bloody wound, and catch a whisper from Sam _Heal, heal, come on, heal, need him to be fixed, how does he do this anyway?_  

I take a deep breath, and put my right hand over his.  “Sam, it doesn’t work like that.  I need to stop the bleeding, and we need to get the bullet lodged in there out before any power will be able to close it up.”

Sammy snaps at me, frustrated, “But we don’t have time for that! I...” He is panting heavily.  From the bond, I can feel the pain and panic and stress are overwhelming him.  This is too much, for both of us, right now. 

I fall back on the training from our Dad, I mean our father (that man will never again be our Dad, even if in my own thoughts!) and work on focusing on the pain, and boxing it up in as small a container as I can make it, and pushing it into a small compartment in my mind.  Once I slam the door on it, I can manage to focus around the pain.

Immediately, I weave my fingers with Sammy’s, and work to calm him as well.  I fall back on one of the lines from our lullaby, lacing as much serenity (and not sleepiness, just serenity) that I can put and lace around each word - _for my hand is cold, and needs warmth, where are you going?_

I see Sammy relax, bit by bit, until his shoulders are no longer scrunched up by his ears, and he is breathing calmly and deeply, his breaths matched evenly with my own.  Then, and only then, do I slip my hand away from our basket weave, and place Sam’s right hand back onto the wheel.  I shudder to see the blood staining it, and the smudged left on the leather of the steering wheel.

I lean forward, and pull the lever, inching the bench seat forward until Sammy can sit in the seat comfortably and still manage to reach the pedals.  Then, I shrug out of my leather coat, and assess the damage to my shoulder. 

Unfortunately, it is as bad as I had feared.  I slip off my outer shirt, pealing the front away from the wound, and use it as a makeshift bandage, wadding it up and pressing it hard against the bleeding.  The pain flares up, and I grit my teeth and push it back down again. 

It is, sadly, as good as it is going to get until we reach Bobby’s and we convince him to help us.  Sammy hears these thoughts through the bond, and reaches out get again, placing his hand on the bare flesh of my arm, close but not on top of the open wound.

Then, he does something I never expected from him.  He turns it around, and sings to me, through our mental voice, strains of our lullaby.  _There shall be caring, and when we both have had enough, I will take him from my shoe, singing, meet your new road.  Then I’ll take your hand, finally glad, that you are here, by my side_.

I look at him, questioning, through drooping eyelids.  He just glances over and smiles a small, tight little smile.  _My turn, now, Dean.  I can take care of you, too.  Just relax.  I’ll get us there, and we will be okay.  Just rest, now.  Leave it to me._

I nod once, and slump down, pressing the shirt tighter as Sam turns back to the road, presses his foot down hard on the gas, and flies down the highway toward Bobby’s.


	17. Chapter Fourteen

** Chapter 14 **

**_Sam POV_ **

By the time we pull up to Bobby's, I can feel that Dean is completely in shock.  His skin feels clammy and feverish to the touch, and he is visibly shaking.  I can tell that he wants to sleep, but I just can't let him.  I am terrified that if he does go to sleep, he won't wake back up.  Which, I know, probably isn’t really something to fear, but it certainly seems real to me.  Thus, every time Dean's eyes droop, I send a burst of color and energy through the bond, shocking him back to wakefulness.

The last time I did that, Dean actually verbally whined, before he bit his lip to stifle the sound.  It is bad if Dean is being that vocal.  Oh, this whole situation is awful.

How... how could our father to that to Dean?  How can he really believe that Dean is evil?  It just doesn't make any sense!  Well, it makes some sense, logically.  But my heart won't or can't understand.  NO ONE hurts my Dean, not even our father. 

As I pull into Bobby's Salvage Yard, I am not at all surprised to see Uncle Bobby standing on the porch, holding a shotgun pointed toward the car.  The growl of the Impala is an unmistakable sound, and he promised our father that the next time he saw him on his property, he was going to shoot first and ask questions later.  I just hope that sentiment doesn't extend to Dean and me.  I don't think it does, and Missouri gave no indication that we should be worried, but I feel a leap of fear in my gut just the same. 

Thankfully, when we get close enough, and the sandy dirt the car kicks up settles enough for Uncle Bobby to see into the front windshield, he lowers the rifle.  I barely manage to get the car into park before Bobby is right there, throwing the driver's side door open and yanking me into his arms, hugging me tightly.

"Sam, what's wrong?! Why are you driving?  Where's your Dad?"

Before Uncle Bobby can ask any more questions that I am not quite prepared to answer, his eyes fall on the blood on my hands and the steering wheel, then to Dean, slumped in the passenger seat, trying to stay conscious.  "Uncle Bobby, please.  Dean's been shot."

Dean attempts to sit up and mumbles a half-coherent, "It's only a flesh wound."  I actually let a little, hysterical laugh escape, partly because it completely caught me off guard, partly because I know I am starting to lose it from stress, and it was going to bubble out in some form, and partly because I knew Dean said it to make me feel better, and he needed to hear me laugh to feel better himself.

Bobby just rolls his eyes, and power walks to the passenger side door, gently pulling it open when he sees that Dean is no longer resting all of his weight on it.  "How bad is it, boy?"

Dean pulls the wadded up shirt away from the wound for a moment.  I shudder at the wet, squelching sound the action causes.  "Bad enough.  The bullet's still in there; we need to dig it out and then I'll be fine."

Uncle Bobby moves to help Dean to his feet, and I am right there, tucking myself against Dean's side so he has two human crutches to help him get inside.  "Let's get you in the house, and I'll be the judge of what needs to be done."

Uncle Bobby looks at me, and continues, "Then, you boys can tell me what’s going on.  Or, better yet, knowing the Winchester family, what’ll be chasing after you."

I want to deny it, but Bobby is right.  We will have things chasing after us, alright, be it demons or the demon our father has become. 

I nod.  "We'll explain everything, I promise."  I feel the agreement from Dean, but he seems too far gone to actually verbalize it at the moment.  All the more reason we need to get that bullet out as soon as possible. 

Bobby walks us right to the kitchen, and helps me lower Dean onto one of the dining table chairs before rushing off to retrieve supplies.  In the interim, I kneel on the floor in front of Dean, and fit myself between his knees, brushing his sweaty bangs away from his forehead before cupping his cheek with my palms and pressing a kiss to the feverish skin at the top of his hairline.  _Just let Bobby help me get the bullet out, and then you need to explain to me how you heal me.  Missouri said it is my power that lets you; I have to have the ability to make it better._

Dean nods back, weakly.  _You do. You'll do great. Not to worry; this is nothing.  I'm going to be fine, you hear me?_

I press another quick kiss to his forehead, and then one brief peck to his lips, before pulling away as Bobby walks into the kitchen and drops the first aid kit, some towels, and a bottle of whisky on the table. 

He uncaps the bottle, and hands it to Dean.  "Take a few swigs.  Then, let's get this over with." 

Dean manages a couple shots before I take the bottle from his shaking fingers. Then, Bobby puts one of the towels between Dean's teeth, and starts using with the pliers to dig out the offensive piece of metal lodged in Dean's flesh.

The minute Uncle Bobby pulls the pliers out, holding the mangled looking chunk of metal, and he drops it with a plunk on the scarred wooden table, I am right there, between Dean's legs, sitting up on my knees, and pressing my hands over the reopened, bleeding wound. 

I hear Dean's voice, labored even in thoughts, but guiding me, as he always seems to.  _Just feel around inside you.  You are looking for a warm little ball of energy.  I usually find it near our silver tether, but that is probably because I draw that energy from you.  Once you find it, it is just like sending things through our bond.  You just sort of... push the energy to fill the wound, and will it better._

I nod slowly, and follow his instructions.  It takes longer than I would have liked to find the ball of energy, but once I do, I recognize it for what it is.  It is covered in a sort of protective bubble.  It is that bubble that seems to burst when I am upset, unleashing the telekinesis that knocked out our father, or the bursts of sonic force that shatter out windows.

This time, I try to not pop the bubble, but merely peel back a small section, and picture filling my hands with this warm, healing energy.  Once my hands literally feel hot with power, I press the palms flat against the bleeding flesh and fully nudge it into the hole, attempting to fill the empty, open wound with power and warmth and energy.

Once I feel like it is working, I finally open my eyes and look.  My hands are radiating a faint, orange aura and I can feel the flesh knitting closed under my palms.  I can hear Dean's labored, pained breaths slowing down, and the hot, white pain I feel in my shoulder, matching Dean's, is fading quickly to nothing.

I feel through the bond waves of relief and pride.  Dean is proud of me.  I used my demon-given powers, but Dean is proud of what I have done, and still loves me.  I smile up at him, and his smile matches my own. 

I start to feel like I can't push any more energy into Dean's wound, so I back the flow to a trickle, and then to nothing at all.  I push the extra back inside me, and pull the seal back over the flexing bubble around my powers.  Then, and only then, do I pull my hands away. 

Dean looks down at his shoulder, and tentatively touches it with his fingertips.  I grab one of the damp towels from the table, and gently clean away the leftover blood staining his skin, revealing a perfectly healed shoulder.  Impulsively, I lean forward and place a peck of a kiss where the bullet had gone in, over the only sign that anything had ever happened there - a small, puckered, circular scar. 

Dean ruffles my hair affectionately, and grins.  _I'll take it.  Scars are sexy, don't you think?_   He gives me a saucy wink, and I can't help but laugh aloud.

Our moment is interrupted by Uncle Bobby.  He places a heavy hand on my shoulder, and squats down on his haunches until I turn to face him, and he can rest both hands on my thin shoulders, and look me in the eyes.  "Christo."

I know I should be strong, but my face crumples as tears threaten to spill from my eyes.  I had thought... Missouri had said... that Uncle Bobby would understand, and that he could help us.  But he's afraid I'm a demon.  It's going to be like Dad all over again!

Thankfully, before these thoughts can absolutely spiral out of control, he pulls me into his arms, and gives me a bear hug.  "Oh, no, son.  Sorry.  I just had to check, that's all.  You are safe here, you and your brother. Take a deep breath.  It's alright."

I know I let a couple tears slip onto Uncle Bobby's shoulder, but I blink my eyes a few times, take a deep breath, and pull back, schooling my face to calm.  I think both Bobby and Dean noticed, but they both pretend they don't.  Just one more thing to be grateful for.

Uncle Bobby pats me on the shoulder, once, and stands, dragging a chair over to sit near us.  He motions for me to do the same.  Once we are settled, he looks back and forth between Dean and me, somberly.  "Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that whatever just happened between you two is the reason you are here without your Dad?"

I look over at Dean, and he shrugs.  _We need to trust someone.  Missouri said we could trust Bobby, and I feel it, deep down inside.  Bobby will understand._

So I attempt to explain.  “Since I was born, according to Dean, we have been bonded.  We can feel some of each other’s emotions, and send thoughts to one another.  I can always focus and know where Dean is - well, unless he is knocked unconscious.  It’s easier to share things if we are touching.  Skin to skin contact is best.  It’s also stronger if one of us is feeling a strong emotion, such as anger or fear or pain.

“We always knew that Dad might not understand, that Hunters would be ready to stop this, so we’ve kept it under wraps.  Until yesterday.”

I pause.  I can’t believe it was only yesterday.  Already, it seems like that happened ages, a full lifetime ago.  Uncle Bobby prods me with, “What happened yesterday, Sam?”

I take a deep breath and continue.  “Yesterday, we were helping D- our father - with a hunt and Dean was knocked out by the spirit we were hunting.  While he was out, a demon swooped in and kidnapped me.

“To find me and rescue me, Dean relied on the bond and our innate connection.  Which meant, our father found out about our bond.  While they were on their way to get me, I found out about my powers.

“Dean and I had learned that I had them a while ago, but like the bond, we decided to keep it contained and hidden, to protect ourselves and others.  But, apparently, the yellow-eyed demon, the one that killed our Mom, wasn’t after Mom in the first place.  He was after me.  He gave me these crazy demon powers, and now the demons want me to use them to lead an army of demons out of hell and destroy the world or some crazy nonsense!

“And, if that wasn’t bad enough, our Dad has got it into his head that Dean has been replaced by, and a quote, a “demon spawn.”  He has been trying to drag me away from Dean and get me cleansed, while attempting to take out Dean!  Our father, John Winchester, is the one who shot Dean!  He shot his own damn son! 

“So, Uncle Bobby, everything might as well be coming after us.  Demons, Hunters, our father, all of it.  And here we are, two soul-bonded Hunter’s sons, with access to demon powers, and no clue how to really use them.

“Please, Bobby.  Please understand.  We didn’t know who else to turn to.  We don’t have any place else to go.  Please help us.”

Bobby looks us both over, then leans forward and places a hand on each of our shoulders.  “Oh, boys.  You know I’ll help.  Nothing evil about those powers of yours, because there’s nothing evil about either of you.  I always knew your Dad was going to go off, half-cocked and crazy in that crusade of his, I just never imaged rage would end up directed at his own sons.”

He looks us both over, and nodes decisively.  “You both look absolutely beat.  Why don’t you go up to your room, and get some rest?  If you let me, I’ll go park the Impala out of the way, and take a walk around the property - make sure the demon defenses are all up to par and functioning.  Then I’ll pull some books on demon powers.  When you both wake up, we’ll jump into getting some training going.  If a storm is coming, and you boys are smack dab in the middle of it, we better start getting prepared, wouldn’t you say?”

I don’t know which one of us thought it first, but it became a synchronized move.  Dean and I both nearly leaped from our chairs and latched onto Uncle Bobby, hugging him tightly.  I can tell Dean is trying to block, but it’s all been too much, and his shields are shot to hell.  _I had wanted to hope and believe... but couldn’t let myself... like a father, better than our father... he’ll help us and Sammy can be safe..._

I hug Uncle Bobby just a bit tighter, glad that he can bring that level of relief and security and love out of Dean.  It’s been a long couple days, but with Uncle Bobby helping us, Dean and I will train and learn and grow.  We will become Hunters, ourselves - forces to be reckoned with.

We will endure.  Better yet, we will thrive!


	18. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, we are getting close to the end of this tale. Only one more chapter after this one, and perhaps a brief epilogue, if I'm in the mood. Thanks for sticking with me through the ride. Enjoy the last bit of drama!

** Chapter 15 **

**_Dean POV_ **

I know it sounds stupid and juvenile (well, Sam would tell me I am both of those so I guess me saying this really isn't out of the realm of possibilities) but what continued for the next month at Bobby's was very reminiscent of a classic 80's movie training montage. Some days, watching Sammy work and get more and more control over his powers, I could almost hear the strains of some uplifting "You can do it!" song playing in the background.

That is not to say that I didn't do my own share of training.  But it was different for me.  I had to spend quite a lot of time figuring out how to actually access the powers, since they certainly weren't my own.  And, if Sam was full out using those powers, I had next to no chance of being able to touch them.  Then again, we at least had some idea of how Sammy’s powers worked.  Since they were demonic in origin, most of the books Bobby had on demons gave some indications of their powers - and, by extension, how Sam’s powers function.

The bond, however.  Well, there isn’t a whole lot of research Bobby could find on soul-bonded individuals.  Apparently, as always, Sam and I are weird, even among the strange and unusual we tend to encounter.  Either not many people are as connected as Sammy and I are, or if they are, they don’t share that detail with others.  We spent a week going through Bobby’s entire library, even the two dozen boxes of books tucked away in that crawl space he calls an attic, and found next to nothing. 

Unfortunately, that is about as far as we can research right now.  Until I feel that we are more protected, from both hell and our father, I don’t want to leave Bobby’s place.  For me to be comfortable with that, I need Sammy to have really have a handle on those powers of his, so he can be protected in every way even if I am not right there to help.

When Bobby usually reaches an impasse, he starts calling other Hunters, asking for any information they may have on whatever topic he needs.  Except, we are afraid to just go right out and say to the Hunter community, “Hey, we’re looking on books about soul-bonded humans.”  You can well imagine what the next questions will be.  Who are these individuals and how can we help you hunt them down?

Bobby, thank God, is understanding, but I think most Hunters tend to lean toward our father’s opinion on the supernatural.  That is - if it is anything out of the ordinary, hunt now and ask questions later.

Thankfully, we also have Pastor Jim.  When we told Bobby that it was Pastor Jim that helped us escape from our father, and hopefully delay the man, we also realized we had better call to make sure he was okay.  While Pastor Jim and our father have been relatively close since he became a Hunter, who knows how he reacted when he came to after Sammy knocked him out.  Before that night, I didn’t think that he was capable of ever hurting Sammy or me, and we saw how that panned out.

According to Pastor Jim, after our father woke up, he believed that I had tricked Pastor Jim as well with my “demon spawn” trickery.  The great John Winchester pulled his gun, held his friend at gunpoint, and insisted he be allowed to take a vehicle and leave un-accosted.  Hoping and praying that we were well on our way, and not wanting to anger our father any further, Pastor Jim gave our father the keys to his station wagon, and John left to chase after us.

I am glad we called Pastor Jim, though.  He was so pleased and relieved to hear from us, and know that we are currently safe and together, and getting the training we need to, and I quote, “Fulfill our God-given destiny.”  I don’t know how much I believe, as Pastor Jim does, that we are so completely heaven blessed, but sometimes, at night, curled up with Sammy safe and warm and loving in my arms, I can believe in something good.  Someone must be smiling down at me, to give me my Sammy, whole and precious and perfect, for me alone to love and cherish.  And for this perfect being to want to love and cherish me right on back?  Just... wow.  Sometimes I am awestruck, thinking about it.  If that isn’t a miracle, I don’t know what is.

Thus, when about a month into our stay with Bobby we receive a call from Pastor Jim, I am not at all concerned.  Jim has been calling us about once a week, to check on our progress and our well-being.  While Sammy and I try to hide it well, our father’s betrayal hurts, way more than any bullet wound could.  It is a deep, festering wound that gnaws at me at the most inopportune times.  Jim knows us well by now; he knows how highly we, and me in particular, value family.  To turn on your family... it is simply unacceptable. 

When Bobby calls into the library that Jim is on the phone, and wants to talk to me, I assume it is to reassure me that God has a plan, and all will be revealed in time.  I am completely caught off guard to hear the thinly-veiled panic in Pastor Jim’s voice. 

“Dean.  I know that John is not on your list of favorite people right now, but I felt you and Sam, both, needed to be made aware of this.  Your father... I have reason to believe that your father is being held by a group of demons.”

And I hate it, because I am so angry at the man, for trying to take Sammy away from me, for not understanding his sons, for fucking shooting me in the shoulder!  For hurting Sammy.  All of this, and I still know, the minute the words leave Pastor Jim’s lips, that I am going to have to go and save the man.  In the end, he is my father, and he is a Winchester.  I do not turn my back on family, not when they need me most.  Not when it really counts.  And, certainly, not right now.

I am also pissed off, because I know I will end up taking Sammy with me.  He won’t let me go in alone, and if I try to tell him no, he will follow me anyway.  And, if I am hurt, he will just feel it regardless.  Besides, what we have discovered training here at Bobby’s is that we are great individually, but we are amazing together.  With our bond, and Sam’s powers, we are a force to be reckoned with.  In a few years, when both Sammy and I stop growing and are fully matured, mind and body, we will be amazing.  I can see why the demons are so hot to trot over getting Sammy.

And then it hits me, like a damn bullet between the eyes.  That is it.  That is why they have our father.  If they have him captured, then they easily could have already killed him.  John Winchester is good, but he is not invincible.  They want him alive for a reason.  That reason, unfortunately, is probably Sammy.  The demon that took Sammy had outright said they wanted Hell’s Boy King.  He promised other demons would be coming to “take Sam home” to hell.  This is a giant trap, and inevitably, Sam and I will be unable to do anything but walk right in and hope like hell we make it back out alive and intact, with the fucker we call a father alive as well.

Sammy “hears” my mental turmoil, and comes over to stand by my shoulder, snaking a hand under my shirt, so he can rest the flat of his palm against my lower back, the better to open the connection and hear Pastor Jim.  “When I walked out to the mailbox today, rather than the mail I was expecting, the box held your father’s favorite sawed off shotgun with a good amount of sulphur caked into the crevices.  Tucked into one of the barrels was a note with merely an address scribbled on it.  I looked it up, and it seems to be nothing but an abandoned warehouse in the middle of formerly booming industrial district in Detroit.  Most of the neighboring warehouses are now abandoned as well. 

“Talking with some other Hunters, I heard that John was last heard to be looking into an increase in demonic signs and activity originating from that city.  But that was over a week ago.  Who knows how long they have had him, or what their plan is.  I am going to try to gather some Hunters together, see if we can’t get him some help, but I just thought you boys should be made aware of the situation.”

“Thanks, Pastor Jim.  We did need to know.  Don’t worry about the other Hunters, though.  We’ll take care of it.”

I can hear Jim beginning his disagreements and arguments, but I hang up the phone before I can hear any of them and pace away from the phone and Sammy, storming into our bedroom.  Behind me, I can hear the phone already starting to ring again.  Whatever.  Let Bobby answer it and listen to Pastor Jim.

I angrily yank my duffle bag out from under the bed, and start throwing clothes into it.  But I don’t get far, before my frustrations get the best of me. I pull one of the dresser drawers out too far and fast; it falls with a clatter on my toe.  In frustration, I cover my face with my hands and half-snarl and half-scream into my palms.

I am still standing that way when Sammy walks up behind me, and wraps his arms around my waist, pressing his chest to my back and resting his cheek between my shoulder blades.  _Oh, Dean.  It’ll be okay.  You’ll see.  We’re much more powerful now.  We will go in, grab Dad, and get out.  We’ll all be fine, you’ll see.  We’re going in together, to protect our family - how can we possibly fail at that?_

I turn my body in the span of Sam’s arms, until I can pull him tight into my own arms, and rest my head on top of his.  He is growing so fast, I won’t be able to hold him like this for much longer, I note with an equal mix of pride and disgust.  _Oh, Sammy... you know this is a trap, right?  That they are doing this to get you?  Even knowing that, even wanting to protect you with everything that I am... I can’t just ignore the fact that they have our father.  I can’t.  And they know that.  I know I can’t make you stay, so I won’t even try.  But I can’t not go.  And then I am just leading you right into a den of demons, awaiting our arrival.  I feel so... trapped._

I can tell that Sam is attempting to keep his negative thoughts from overwhelming me, but I am getting better at using our connection as well, and I push until I am in the middle of Sammy’s storm of emotions and thoughts.  He is trying to project calm toward me, but he is full of turmoil, just under the surface.  _Dean needs family, even if family means John Winchester and saving him... but why save the man who hurt us, who shot Dean?!... but it would hurt Dean to know we could have done something and to do nothing... he will go regardless, CAN’T let him go alone, never alone, always together, we promised... but a room full of demons!... they want me, are after me, setting this up for me, I know it, and they know Dean won’t say no, Dean Winchester doesn’t abandon family, and I don’t, won’t, abandon Dean, will follow him right in... so scared they will wait until then, then take Dean and kill both Dad and him right there, right in front of me, can see it, like a vision, but it can’t be, I won’t let it be, no no no no NO!... if they do that I will lose it, I will go crazy, I will kill them all, everyone, everything, NO!_

I do the only thing I can think to silence these thoughts, and calm him - I swoop down and capture his lips with my own.  Like this, our lips gently moving and shifting over and against one another’s, I can feel Sammy’s tumultuous thoughts break apart and scatter.  Every time one thought tries to push its way up, I deepen the kiss, and reassure him with everything I have, mind and soul, heart and body.  I pour it into every bit of that kiss the essential message: _I will keep you safe_.

Once I am positive that Sammy is as calm as he is going to get, given the situation, I draw back, ready to continue packing our duffle bags.  It is only then that I notice Bobby, standing in the doorway of the bedroom. 

It is one thing for Bobby to know that we are soul-bonded.  It is another to see us kissing.  I automatically shift so that I am standing between Bobby and Sam, and assess him warily. 

Bobby huffs, and crosses his arms.  “Don’t you give me that defensive look, boy.  I ain’t gonna go into hysterics like that Daddy of yours.  Ya both are bonded, from my research, and your descriptions, with a tether connecting your heart,” and me points at my chest, “right to your damn brother’s.”  Bobby’s finger unerringly follows the path of the tether, until he is pointing to where it connects directly into Sammy’s heart.  “Did you think I had no conception what that meant?”

I breathe a sigh of relief, and hear Sammy do the same.  Damn.  I am so glad we have Bobby.

Crisis averted, I return to packing my duffle, and see that Sam has turned to do the same. 

“Pastor Jim told me what’s going on.  Do you guys honestly think you can just waltz in there and steal your father out without some serious backup?”

I shrug, but refuse to look up from my task.  “We don’t really have any other choice, now do we?  We can’t just leave him there.  He’s family.”

“Understandable.  I’m not saying we leave him to be demon food, either.  But give Pastor Jim time to drive here, and we will go with you.  You don’t need to leave right now.  They haven’t offed him yet; he’ll endure an extra couple hours.”

I zip up my bag, and turn to face Bobby.  “Bobby, Sammy and I appreciate it, but this is a family matter.  You’ve given us all the help we could ever hope for this last month. We are much more prepared now than we were before.  It will just have to be enough.”

I look to Sammy as I hear his duffle zipper.  He swings his bag onto his shoulder, and walks across the room toward me.  I reach out my left hand to him, and feel comforted when he immediately slips his hand into mine, grasping it tightly.  Together, we head toward the bedroom door.

Bobby stops us, putting a hand on my shoulder, but looking at both Sam and me when he says, “You know, family doesn’t end with blood, boys.  Family can be chosen, as well.”

I look Booby in the eyes, and see the sincerity shining out from them.  I realize, in that moment, that he really does see us as part of his family.  But that is the reason I can’t let him come and get hurt because of us.  “Thank you, Bobby, for everything.  But this is something we need to do.  Just us.  Please.  There is no reason you or Pastor Jim need to be hurt or killed because of us.  Please just stay out of our way.”

I squeeze Sammy’s hand, and push past Bobby, tugging Sam along with me.  I hear Sammy mumble, “Sorry, Uncle Bobby,” as we go.

I hold Sam’s hand until we reach the Impala, and I need two hands to open the trunk and load up our bags.  But the parting is brief; once the Impala roars to life, and before I even pull her out of the Salvage Yard, Sammy has latched onto my hand again.  I can tell we both need the reassurance as we pull out, heading for an obvious trap and our potential demise.  At least, as always, whether we stand or if we fall, it will be Sammy and me, together.


	19. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, my friends! Thanks for joining me for the ride and enjoying this story!

** Chapter 16 **

**_Sam POV_ **

The drive to Detroit is equal parts contentedness and dread.  Somehow, there is part of me that feel perfectly at ease sitting next to Dean in the Impala.  It seems as if, now that we have claimed the car as ours, mine and his, I feel perfectly right sitting shotgun.  This is where I was always meant to be; sitting beside Dean and heading toward our next hunt.  I can see this being our life - on the road, moving about, happy and content to be nomadic, with home the contents of leather and metal, and a silver tether leading me to my heart's safe haven.

However, this isn't just any old hunt.  This is it.  This is the final showdown, the do or die battle of my childhood.  This determines if I get to continue my last shreds of childhood, or lose everything important to me, and descend into madness.

That is the fear.  I know we have to go rescue our father.  I will lose Dean, completely, if we don't try to do what we can to protect the little bit of family we have left.  But I fear, in the process, that I will lose Dean, regardless.  And, if that happens... I am terrified that I will lose myself.  Without the other half of my soul, my light, my anchor... I can't be sure, no matter how much I know Dean wouldn't want me to, that I won't let my power overtake me and destroy everything in my quest to get Dean back.

That, I believe, is what is going to make me evil.  Given the choice to accept the loss of Dean, or go postal, I think I will choose to go postal.  And, if I know that about myself, the demons probably have a pretty good suspicion that what will happen as well.  They are going to go right for my weak spot, which is Dean.

So, the goal of this excursion is to keep Dean safe.  We have already decided, since I have better control and access to these powers, and Dean can't seem to tap into them when I am in full-out power battle mode, that he will make a beeline for Dad, wherever he is being held, and get him free and armed, if he is conscious and functioning, or up and out if he isn't.  My job will be to do my best to cover Dean, and keep whatever demons we encounter off of him and neutralized while he does what needs doing in regards to our father.

It is a good a plan as we are going to get, sadly.  I know I can't be the one to free our father, because I may very well just beat him senseless myself.  Well, that is not strictly true.  In that situation, I would wait until we are free of the warehouse, and _then_ beat him senseless.  I am not convinced Dean won’t just go and do the same thing, once our family is safe.  But that is how Dean always is - family must be kept safe from others.  It's just part of what makes me love him so much.

By the time we reach Detroit, I am so full of anxiety and nervous energy, I can feel the explosive power contained within me vibrating at my fingertips.  Dean keeps reaching across the bench seat and resting his arm along the back of the seat, brushing his fingertips through the hair at the base of my neck.  Even the normally calming gesture can't alleviate the tension vibrating through me.

When we enter the city, my senses go haywire.  Senses I didn't even realize I have just seem to tingle.  _Dean - I can feel them.  I can feel all of them._ And it was true.  In much the same way that I can close my eyes and pinpoint where Dean is, I know, right now, if I had a map of the warehouses, I could put little dots in every location that a demon is standing, right now.

Dean, hearing this, pulls a road map of Detroit out of the plastic bag from our last pit stop at the gas station.  I should have known he would already be prepared for something I wasn't even expecting.  He hands it to me, and waves toward the glove box.  _Grab a pen from in there, and mark them.  Let's get an idea of what we're looking at, okay?_

By the time Dean has found us a relatively secluded spot to park the Impala, close enough to the abandoned warehouse district to walk, but not close enough to be detected easily, I have placed seven dots on the map.  Four seem to be in a loose circular formation around a central point in one of the warehouses - the one that we have an address for.  Hey, at least they were honest.  The other three dots seem to be sentries.  They patrol the outside of the building, making a wide circuit of the block every fifteen minutes, it seems.

"Seven.  Damn, that's a lot of demons," Dean says, as he assesses the map.

"Yeah, but three of them are outside patrolling.  And we have the benefit of knowing right where they are, at any given moment.  They keep themselves separated enough that we should be able to get the jump on each one individually, without them alerting the other sentries or the demons inside.   Then we really only have four to contend with.  Not great odds, but better than seven."

Dean nods.  "Okay. You've been practicing holding things still with your telekinesis.  Do you think you could hold a sentry long enough for me to get off an exorcism?"

"I am going to have to.  That will be our best plan of attack.  Then, we'll storm the castle and save the princess.  Simple, right?" I grin up at Dean, trying to lighten the mood.

Dean looks at me, eyes deep and serious.  So much for lightening the mood.   He cups my face between his hands, and swoops in for a burning, soul-searing kiss.  It is brief but effective, making my knees feel a bit weak, but in that feel good way that only Dean can make happen.  _Are you going to be okay in there?  This is heavy stuff, especially after your brush with one of hell’s spawn just a month ago.  They are going to be calling to you.  I just... if you tell me no, right now, we can turn around and leave Detroit and never look back.  I will not drag you into a situation that will destroy you._

I swear, my eyes tear up a bit at Dean’s words.  Even as important as this is to him, he is willing to walk away to ensure my mental and physical well-being.  How did I get such a wonderful person to be my own personal protector?  _I’ll be okay, Dean.  I promise.  We need to do this.  I can’t... no, I won’t live my life in fear.  I need to know, right here and now, that hell will have no power over me._

_Plus, seriously, we can’t just leave Dad in there.  He may have been acting like an asshole lately, but he is still our Dad.  Hopefully this will just prove to him that you aren’t working with the denizens of hell, you know?_

Dean nods, and brushes one last, lingering kiss against my lips.  _Come on, baby boy.  Let’s do this!_

 

**_Dean POV_ **

I have to say, those powers of Sammy’s are making this whole procedure a hell of a lot easier.  We have already managed to take out two of the sentries, and are waiting around the alleyway, ready to take out the third. 

I look at Sammy, and assess his state of being.  He is definitely looking a bit peckish.  His skin is paler than normal, and there is a thin sheen of sweat sticking his bangs to his forehead, and glistening across his upper lip.  This is not easy on him, even if he is getting better at controlling these powers.  I want to make this procedure as quick as possible, but the only thing we can do is be patient and smart. 

Sammy suddenly grabs my wrist, and sends _Incoming in ten._   I prepare myself, pressing my back flat to the wall and holding the book of exorcisms open in my palm, open and pressed against my chest to hold the page until the opportune moment.

As the demon moves to turn down this alleyway in his circuit, Sammy lunges forward, and reaches his right hand forward in the universal “stop” motion.  I can hear him command the demon silently through the bond.  _Halt!  Be silent and still!_

Amazingly, it obeys, though by the snarl I can see attempting to fall from its lips, it does so as unwillingly as possible.  It is not pleased to be held.  I can see it straining and struggling against the mental hold Sammy places upon it using his powers.

I begin the exorcism immediately, whispering the words as quietly as possible and praying, with everything in me, that just like the last two sentries, the demons inside cannot hear what is happening just outside the walls of their current hideout.

As the words tumble from my lips, the Latin as familiar now as the lullabies I have spent my entire life singing to Sammy, I direct part of my attention to checking on Sam himself.  He is trembling with the power inside him, and the strain of holding this demon, the third of the afternoon, as still and as silent as he can.  The demon is not making it easy for him.  I can see the muscles of the body he is inhabiting straining against the invisible hold, rippling, vibrating, pushing and pulling.  But it will not be enough. 

With the final phrase, the body’s head snaps back, and a black cloud erupts from its mouth, roaring away to be sent back to the hell from whence it came.  Even that is silenced, somehow, from the typical roar it makes.  I know Sammy is somehow affecting that as well, but I can tell even he isn’t quite sure the mechanics of that.  He seems to will it into happening, and it complies.  I am starting to believe that, even though Sammy’s has no desire (and will NEVER be) Hell’s Boy King, or the leader of hell’s army, he is equipped with the powers that would allow him to do so.  Regardless of what he chooses, he is able to force the demons to obey his will, whether they like it or not.

Whatever the reason, I am hoping this will make the next part easier.

Once the newly demon-free body collapses, I drag it farther into the alley, checking for a pulse as I go.  Nothing, yet again.  These demons have been rough on the bodies they have chosen.  None of the sentries have left living bodies upon departure.  I can’t image we will find anything more promising once we take care of the ones inside the warehouse.

And I need to keep thinking that way, that optimism that this will not be an issue.  Failure is not an option.  I WILL NOT lose any more of my family, be it Sammy or even our nutjob father.

I look up at Sammy, and see him visibly trembling, leaning against the dirty brick wall of the abandoned building we are next to.  This is taking a lot out of him, just holding one demon.  There are four inside.  I don’t know if he is up for this.

Sam, hearing my thoughts and picking up on my fears, pushes himself off the wall, wipes his sweaty forehead on the back of his sleeve, and visibly shakes himself.  _I’m fine.  I will be fine.  Let’s just do this before they realize their ranks have diminished, okay?_

I nod, and take Sam’s hand, squeezing it gently to reassure and comfort both him and myself.

Together, we walk the one block to the warehouse at the center of this grid, the one where the demons are holding our father.  I send Sam a ping of a question, and he responds to the unspoken inquiry.  _Yeah, they are in there.  They haven’t moved much from my earlier assessment of their locations._

_From the way they are arranged, I am guessing that Dad is pretty much dead center in the open space of the warehouse._

I look around the building, and notice a fire escape leading up to a set of windows, most broken, on the second floor.  Silently, I point them out, and Sam sends a wave of yellow through the bond, with a push of urgency.  His hand is clammy in my own, and he is still trembling slightly.  We need to get this over with.  He needs to rest.

He squeezes my hand again, and pushes again.  _Come on - let’s do this!_

I hurry to the fire escape, and as quietly as I can, pull down the ladder.  I can hear the faintest of rusty squeaks as it descends.  I catch it before the bottom clatters to the ground, and ease it down gently. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be gently enough.  The front door to the warehouse flies open, and a large, burly man steps out and points toward us.  “You!  It’s about time!  We’ve been waiting for your arrival!”

I raise my gun, ready to take aim, but Sammy has beat me to it.  Our cover blown, he no longer works to be silent.  “Halt!  Do not move to attack!”  The demon lurches forward, as if to move toward us, but his feet seem glued to the ground where he stands.  Sam is holding him back, but I am not sure how long that will last.

Sam storms up to the demon, his hand still raised, focusing his powers to hold him in place.  _Go!  Now, Dean!_

He doesn’t need to tell me twice.  I weave around the demon in place, gun raised - as if it will really do me any good against the other three demons inside.  It is more to make me feel better, and perhaps give them pause for a moment.

As I storm inside, feeling Sam at my heels, I finally get a chance to see what we are up against.  As Sam predicted, the other three demons are spread in a circle around a central point.  I chair sits in the middle of the vast warehouse floor plan, our father tied and slumped in the chair.  At the commotion of the other demons leaping forward to their comrade’s aid, his head slowly raises, and I can tell the moment he spots us.  Faintly, I hear his confused and surprised, “Dean? Sam?” carry and echo through the vast open space, before I am distracted by the unnaturally fast rush of the rest of the demons.

The first one manages to reach me, and pulls back his fist to throw the first punch - until he, too, freezes in place.  I glance around, and all four are being held by Sammy’s amazing powers.

Through the bond, I can feel how strained Sam is, and can tell this won’t last for long.  Without any more hesitation, I leap forward and jog the fifteen paces to the place where our father is tied and bound.  I fall to my knees in front of him, pulling my boot knife in one smooth motion. 

As I began hacking at the ropes tied around his ankles, I tell our father how this is going to work.  “I am going to get you out.  You will not be attacking me.  You are to let me help you get outside, so we can get Sammy out of here.  Am I understood?”

I hear a sarcastic, “Yes, sir,” muttered from Dad’s lips, and hope like hell he means to listen to me.  Then again, he isn’t really in a place to object or argue.

The minute his ankles are free, I circle around behind the chair, and work at freeing his wrists.  _Hurry, Dean, I can’t... I can’t do this much longer_.  Shit, shit, shit!  I cut Dad free, and push him out of the chair, hoisting his arm over my shoulder.  His legs attempt to buckle, but I shove my shoulder underneath his and use that momentum to push us forward.

Once Dad is settled as stably as I can get him, and I start to attempt to rush him toward the door, look up to find Sam across the room.

I can see that Sammy is white as a sheet, and shaking badly.  I throw the connection between us as wide as it will go, and attempt to push my strength toward him, trying to keep him going just a few seconds more. 

Except, what I didn’t expect when I opened the bond was the voices of demons, worming their way inside Sam’s head, whispering and taunting, dragging him down.  _You are one of ours... one of our own... you will fall to us... no one loves you, see how they leave you to us while they attempt to flee... your powers are too much for you, once they fizzle out, and you collapse, you will be ours, forever and ever... Dean cannot save you now... keep pushing, yes, it will be your downfall... you cannot hold us forever and when you fall, you will be ours, ours... lead us, fall with us, demon child..._

I can hear Sam’s internal mantra of _No, no, no, no, no!_ but he can only keep so much going on in his brain at once.  The powers and the whispers, and the exhaustion...

With one last fading _no..._ the hold on the demons release.  I gasp as I feel it, and Sammy looks up at me, catching my eyes with his drooping ones.  Even as connected as we are, his internal voice is the softest whisper.  _I’m sorry, Dean.  Love you always..._

And then his knees are buckling, his eyes are trying to slip closed, and... and...

“No, no, no, no, no!  SAMMY!”  It is a shout, a plea, a prayer.  It is said, screamed, roared, through my mind and heart and soul and voice and body.  Sammy falling… us failing… it is **not acceptable**! 

Suddenly, it is the easiest thing in the world to grab the power from Sam, to mold and shape it to suit MY needs.  Now, here, right how I want it. 

I picture a soft cloud, a gentle gust of air, up-shooting, cushioning, catching.  Sammy collapses back on it, and I use that gust to draw him right to me, over the head of the stunned demons, my barely standing father.  I step out from under the weight of that man, and open my arms, letting Sam’s limp form drop into my arms.

I can actually feel the demons as they begin to move toward us, their stunned distraction forgotten.  “Do not move.”  The command is spoken, nearly a whisper, but it holds the weight of mountains.  The demons do not advance further.

That taken care of for the moment, I lean forward, and nuzzle Sammy’s pale, sweaty cheek, and place a gentle kiss on his forehead.  His eyelids flutter, and then open.  _Dean?_

I smile gently.  _I’ve got you, baby boy._

Reassured that Sam is alright, the smile slips from my face as I look up at the four demons glaring daggers at me.  “He is mine!  Not yours, not anyone else’s!  He does not belong to you or hell!  You will LEAVE US ALONE AND GO BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM!”  As I shout it, Sam reaches up, and touches my cheek.  I can feel him, boosting and boosting the power I suddenly have command of.  _Together, Dean._

Somehow, I understand.  I fill myself with energy, like I usually do when I want to heal a wound Sam has, readying to fill it with energy.  Now, I use that healing method to push and shove this energy, the beautiful, healing white light, into each of the demon inhabited bodies.  We push and fill, until there is only room for light and good and healing, and no more room for evil.  They are filled, and screaming, aloud and in our heads, but it is alright now.  We understand.  We can handle it now.  Together, in unison, we yell, “BE GONE!” and all four bodies throw back their heads, the demon spirits roaring out of them and banished back to hell.

When the last bit of black smoke dissipates, I release the power back into Sammy, and feel him wrap that protective coating around that little fiery ball, nestled at the base of his side of the silver tether between us.  I can tell, somehow, that I will be able to follow that lead and access that power much more easily now, and that as always, we can share it, in tandem and together, just like the rest of the things in our lives.

Threats averted, I lower myself and Sammy to the ground, until I am sitting cross-legged with Sam cradled in my lap.  He smiles tiredly, and pulls himself upright, wrapping his arms tightly around my neck and pressing his lips to his favorite spot at the crook of my neck, nuzzling my shirt aside until his lips meet bare flesh. 

I can feel Dad’s eyes on us, as he too lowers himself to the ground, probably because he can no longer support his own weight.  He has been here a while.  Somehow, I really don’t care.  We did our part.  He has been rescued.  Right now, I need to do what I do best - take care of Sammy.

I stroke the back of his head, and press my face against his unruly mop of tangled, sweaty hair.  _I am so proud of you, Sammy.  You were amazing.  And we are together and safe now.  Nothing can touch us or harm us; not if we can take care of demons like we just managed.  You and I, together, are fucking kickass!_

I hear Sam’s laughter, muffled against my neck, as I feel the sparkling bubbles of his humor trip and dance across the bond.  I wouldn’t have things any other way.  We are always existing on multiple levels, and it feels amazing to know that this is just the beginning.

I hear running feet toward the entryway of the warehouse, and I immediately pull Sammy onto the floor and shift myself in front of him, ready to defend us against this new threat.  Sam may be conscious, but he is by no means ready to be up and walking and fighting again so soon.

I look up, and squint at the figures that have paused at the doorway, assessing the situation.  When I recognize who the two men are, I breathe a sigh of relief.  I should have known, anyway.  Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim stand there, weapons drawn and ready to fight off an evil that has already been taken care of. 

Of course, those two wouldn’t listen when Sammy and I insisted that we could handle this on our own.  And the timing makes sense.  Pastor Jim probably left right after he talked to Bobby, and the two of them followed us, about two hours behind, all the way to Detroit and this warehouse.  Part of me wants to be frustrated, but I am secretly touched.  It is nice to know that we have two people who care about us so deeply as to risk their lives fighting demons on our behalf. 

Perhaps Bobby is right; family doesn’t stop at blood.  I am starting to believe that Bobby and Jim are part of mine and Sammy’s family.

Speaking of family, I turn and look at our father as I move to scoop Sammy back up and into my arms.  No need for him to sit on the cold, hard floor now that I know there isn’t a threat about to descend upon us yet again.

Dad is looking at us with an unreadable expression on his face.  What the fuck ever.  I turn back to the door, and smile.  “You guys showed up late to the party.  You missed all the fun!”

At my words, both Bobby and Pastor Jim walk over, and kneel down on the floor with us.  Pastor Jim immediately swoops in, wrapping his arms around both Sammy and I in his typical enthusiastic manner.  “Are you boys both alright?” 

Sammy nods, and smiles.  “Yeah.  We’re okay.  Just a little exhausted.”

I nod in agreement.  “No worries.  Nothing a little rest won’t cure.  Sammy here just overextended himself holding back seven demons over the course of the last half hour, before we both managed to exorcise them with powers alone.  I think our training is coming along nicely, don’t you think, Bobby?” 

He grins a rueful half-smile, and pats me on the back, then ruffles Sam’s hair.  “Well, all that work couldn’t have been for nothing.  Not when you boys put your mind to something.  Though if you ever go off to fight demons on your own again, I swear you will be getting a beating when I see you again, you hear me!”

Sammy and I chorus, “Yes, Uncle Bobby.”  I can’t help but laugh.  This is how family is supposed to feel.  This is what I have been missing since we lost Mom.  This simple level of love and acceptance and comradery, even in the face of adversity or the abnormal.  Bobby and Jim accept both Sam and I for who, and perhaps what, we are and love us anyway.

Our father finally pipes up.  “So this is how it is, then?  Dean isn’t a demon, but tra la la, him and my youngest some have crazy, supernatural powers, are weirdly bonded, and are probably fucking.  This is acceptable to the both of you?  This disgusting perversion?  You condone and embrace this?”

I didn’t really expect anything different from him, but I swear, at least a, “Hey, thanks for saving my sorry ass, even though this was a big, elaborate trap to attempt to take Sam away to hell,” would have been fucking nice to hear. 

I expect Bobby or Pastor Jim to step up or say something.  What I don’t expect is the hot, red rage I fell crash over Sam.  He scrambles up out of my arms, finding strength from God knows where, and stands to tower over our father’s seated form.  “You shut the fuck up!  I no longer care that you are my father!  This is _my_ life!  You never raised me anyway.  That was all Dean, from the moment I was born!  It has always been Dean!  With all the evil after us, why can’t I have one good, safe thing in my life?!  What is so perverted and wrong about that?”

I push myself to my feet, and Bobby and Jim do the same.  I sling my arm around Sammy’s shoulders, and we stand together, a united front, with the family we have chosen.  Sam continues.  “From this day forward, we are done, Dad.  Dean and I will find our own way in the world, and it will be better than any life you could have ever even imagined for us.  Do you know why?  Because we will be together and our days will be full of love.  Even when we hunt and fight monsters, it will be what we choose to do, to help others, and to be happy.  So leave, and don’t you dare look back, until you learn to accept and embrace what we have already found - the love of a true family.” 

As I watch our father drag himself to his feet, and stumble out of the warehouse without a glance back, I am amazed to find that I feel no great loss.  I have what is important to me, right here.

Pastor Jim leans forward, and says, “I would be honored if you would like to move in with me officially, at least until Sam is done with school.  I am sure we can get the custody papers in order for you both to enroll in school next semester.”

Bobby nods, and pats me on the back.  “The Salvage Yard isn’t so far away that you couldn’t come by on the weekend, and help out with the cars, as well.  I could certainly use an extra pair of hands, and I know Sammy would be a big help to other Hunters if he would agree to do some research in the library in his free time.”

I feel Sammy’s sunny smile beam through me, within and around me, full of yellow sunshine and golden happiness.  Finally, with the help of a real, caring family, I can give Sammy what I have always wanted for him.  A stable home, a loving family, and a balance of Hunting and normal. 

It may not be what Mom wished for us, when she would pray to the angels at night, but I think, up in Heaven, she is smiling down at us, regardless.

We have never been quite normal, anyway.


End file.
